


The Charcoal in My Chest is Warmer Than My Heart

by AppalachianApologies



Series: Burning Cinders [2]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Anxiety Disorder, But fear not there's happy parts too, Comfort, Emotional, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt Spencer Reid, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Spencer Reid Whump, Spencer is One (1) Anxious Boi, Spencer is straight up not having a good time I won't lie to you all, We got the entire squad here oof, hehehe ralvez, oof these tags are a mess, that's not one of the happy moments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:22:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 83,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27339364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AppalachianApologies/pseuds/AppalachianApologies
Summary: Spencer learns from an early age that the world is out to get him. His clothes quickly become the armor against the wicked world he lives in, but before he knows it, Spencer's mind is spiraling out of control.Expansion from my whumptober story, Ashes, Ashes, We All Fall Down.
Relationships: Past Ethan/Spencer Reid, Past Maeve Donovan/Spencer Reid - Relationship
Series: Burning Cinders [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2039678
Comments: 296
Kudos: 223





	1. A Personal Protection

**Author's Note:**

> Woo hoo!! Hello everyone! I'm not going to lie to you, I was going to take like a day or two off, I really was, but I've just been really excited to start this novella! For those of you who don't know, this is going to be my NaNo Novel, and I'm so excited for this year! Before you start this chapter there are a few important things to note, the first being that there is references to bullying and suicide, as well as domestic abuse. If this is triggering, please don't read this! Spencer's childhood was really fucked up...  
> Also this chapter is quite long, and I'm not sure I'm going to be able to keep this length throughout the month, so please don't be disappointed if you're expecting continuous 6k chapters!
> 
> On that note- please Enjoy! :D

Spencer starts being able to remember when he is just over three years old. An anomaly, even for someone with an eidetic memory. His very first memory is his father draping a jacket over his thin shoulders.

“C’mon,” William starts, “So you don’t get cold when you play out in the rain.”

Scrunching his little nose, Spencer argues, “But I don’t want to play outside!”

“It’s good for you, Spencer.” William counters, holding open the screen door for him.

Diana isn’t there to defend Spencer, so he slumps his shoulders and heads out into the rain. Some of his neighbors’ children are playing in the gutters with their bright yellow rain boots, but Spencer just perches on the lip of the sidewalk and watches the rain fall.

When he comes inside, his mom fusses all over him, drying his hair with a towel. She wraps him in a blanket and reads poetry to him. Snuggled under a pile of the blankets is Spencer’s first memory of feeling safe.

Diana gets him enrolled in kindergarten a year early, because the school wouldn’t let Spencer in if he was any younger. William isn’t happy about it, but he doesn’t try to stop his wife.

On the first day of school, Spencer wears his favorite short sleeved shirt with his tattered shorts, and hops on the school bus with a smile. He comes home with a frown, complaining that school is boring, and he already knows everything that they’re teaching him.

Waving him into a kitchen chair, Diana brings over a book and promises him, “Sit, Spencer. I’ll teach you everything you need to know.”

William comes home hours later and tells Diana that she can’t keep leaving the stove on.

Winter rolls around, and Spencer doesn’t have any nice winter jackets to wear, so his dad bundles him up in one of his old coats. It reaches down past his knees, but Spencer doesn’t mind. In fact, it feels like a blanket being draped over his tiny body. 

At school, Johnny makes fun of Spencer’s jacket, so he just curls into it more. On the playground, he sits on one of the cement benches and pulls up his legs so his entire body can fit inside his dad’s jacket. It feels nice, like a cocoon of safety. If he puts the hood up, then he doesn’t have a single bit of skin peeking out at the world.

Spencer keeps the hood over his head until the teacher makes him take it off.

The Nevada winters don’t last long, and soon enough it becomes unbearable to keep wearing the old jacket, and Spencer’s suddenly back to his short sleeves. When he’s out on the playground, he has nothing to hide in, and his four year old body feels rather exposed. Spencer suffices for just pulling his knees into his chest and wrapping his arms around them.

Elementary school passes in a blur of testing out of grades. Very quickly, the teachers realize that the little boy is so different from his peers, but they don’t have the time nor the means to treat him as such. The best they can do is send him up a grade, hoping that the next teacher knows what to do.

In third grade, William buys Spencer a jacket that’s his size, but he doesn’t like it very much. Even though the temperature doesn’t get too cold, Spencer still wears the oversized jacket. He’s grown a bit, and now it only goes down to his mid thighs, but that’s okay. The sleeves still cover his hands and his knees can still fit inside when he curls up in a ball.

The only downside that Spencer can think of is the fact that the other kids have more material to grab with their grubby little hands. Spencer marks the pros and cons down on a paper that evening, and decides that it’s still worth it to wear the jacket.

A year later, Diana gets put on mandatory leave. She still gets paid, but it’s reduced.

When Spencer starts fifth grade at the ripe age of seven, he doesn’t have any new clothes to wear. He’s grown a couple of inches, and his pants ride up his ankles, exposing little bits of skin between his socks and the cuffs of his jeans.

All of the popular kids on the playground have bell bottom jeans, and make fun of Spencer’s tiny pants. It certainly doesn’t help that he himself is also far too small compared to the rest of them. When Spencer comes home, Diana asks him why he didn’t show up to her lecture today, and Spencer doesn’t know how to respond.

So he does the only thing that he knows works: He brings Kempe to his mom in bed, and he snuggles in under the blankets. “Read to me?”

Spencer feels nice. Safe.

The next day he gets pushed down on the playground, scraping up his palms and knees. The denim seams rip in two, and he now has holes as windows to his skin. It bothers him more than he thinks it should.

When the other kinds start pointing it out, Spencer finds a solution. He can’t sew, the needle marks in his thumbs are evidence enough, but he can still put patches of fabric against his legs, underneath his jeans. It’s far from an entire new layer, and it gets the job done. Although the other students still want to make fun of Spencer, it seems to hurt a little bit less than before.

His mom’s pay gets dipped a little bit more, and William can’t afford to take more hours when he has to be taking care of both a child and an adult. For the first time in Spencer’s life, he goes hungry.

Diana isn’t bothered by it, and Spencer’s quite sure that she doesn’t even notice the fact that they’re all eating less. William gets more unhappy, snapping at his family for the smallest things. Very quickly, Spencer learns to not talk in statistics near William.

It turns out to be a valuable lesson for him. If he wants people to like him, to tolerate him, never, ever, talk in statistics. The only person he can do that with is his mom. 

Spencer can easily fit his fingers of one hand around his other wrist, but that’s not even the worst part. The worst part is his mom can do the same, and she doesn’t even know it.

In sixth grade, Spencer’s accelerated science teacher pulls him aside after the bell has rung. “Spencer, are you getting enough to eat?” He asks, voice laced with concern.

Out of genuine surprise, Spencer replies with his own question, “What?”

“You’re awfully skinny, and I’m worried that you aren’t getting enough to eat-”

“I’m fine.” Spencer answers, far too quickly. Awkwardly covering his tracks, Spencer adds, “Did you know that males have a faster metabolism than women on average because of their body fat? Metabolism also depends on the amount of blood sugar and muscle mass, but it’s completely normal for it to vary from person to person, even within families of genetic similarities.” For some reason, this doesn’t help his science teacher’s concerned look.

With a frown, he asks, “Are you hungry?”

“Right now?”

“Sure.”

“Not really.” Spencer answers, even though he isn’t even sure if that’s the truth. 

With a sigh, his teacher digs through his desk before giving him a chocolate bar. “If you change your mind.” He states plainly, holding it out. Spencer pockets it, before turning on his heel to leave.

When lunch rolls around, it’s half melted, but it’s the best thing Spencer’s tasted in weeks. It reminds him of Halloween, happily munching on chocolate candies until he gets a stomach ache, and then letting the ache run its course while he hides underneath blankets.

That evening the Reids have cereal for the third night in a row, which doesn’t help Diana and her confusion. Half the time she thinks it’s morning and she has to go teach a class. William gives up on telling her the truth, and Spencer’s afraid that his patience is wearing thin.

The next day, Spencer dresses in extra baggy clothing so no one can see his collar bones poke out through the neck of his shirt. He unfolds the sleeves so nobody can see his ulna poke out an extra few centimeters. Spencer makes sure that the shirt covers his waist so the prying eyes can’t see how tight his belt is pulled. Even though he’s sure that no one’s going to look down, Spencer begins exclusively wearing his tall socks, just to make sure that it softens the hard corners of his ankles.

No other teacher brings up his weight, and Spencer knows he’s succeeded. The clothes on his back have become the armor to his heart. And he isn’t going to give that up any time soon.

William reaches the inevitable end of his thread, and Spencer watches as his mother and father have their final fight. Although he’d learned his lesson years ago, Spencer still tries to use statistics to get him to stay. After all, it’s the only thing he knows.

It doesn’t work.

William leaves, and with it, his salary.

Spencer can no longer afford the same tee-shirts of his peers, so he goes to thrift shops and buys off the smallest size of button up shirts. He likes it. The cuffs hide how small his wrists are, and he can button them all the way up to his neck to hide his sunken collar bones. 

Diana squeezes his shallow cheeks and tells him that he looks like a little professor, and Spencer blossoms underneath the compliment. It’s the best thing he’s heard in years. He decides that whatever he does, wherever he goes in life, these shirts will stay.

At the ripe age of nine years old, Spencer graduates middle school. The public school holds a cute little ceremony in the gym, and parents line the old bleachers with cameras and bright smiles. Spencer’s the shortest boy to walk by and grab his certificate, and nobody cheers for him.

When he comes home, Diana asks him how school was.

That summer, Spencer spends most of his time at the library. All of the ladies running the small public space get to know him better than his own parents, and Spencer pretends it doesn’t hurt. They very quickly learn that Spencer isn’t like the other kids, and lets him check out as many books as he wants.

On the sweltering summer days when the rest of the Nevada kids are playing at the pools and in lawn sprinklers, Spencer is inside the library, curled up on an old seat in the corner, reading books about schizophrenia. He learns about all of the different types, and the chances of it being passed on genetically.

He learns that he could have schizophrenia too, and he wouldn’t even realize it.

And so on one sunny June day, Spencer tells himself that by the time he’s eighteen he’ll have cured schizophrenia, and there will be no fear about developing it himself. His mom will smile the same way she did before, and his dad will realize that he’s missing out and come back home. Everything will be perfect.

Spencer doesn’t check out any books that day.

Highschool is simultaneously exactly what Spencer expected, and the complete opposite. For one, the kids are just as mean as they were in middle school, except for a boy in his calculus class who always seems to smile at Spencer. 

But all of a sudden he can take so many new classes, all AP, and Spencer’s never been so excited to go to school. He deals with the kicks and shoves in the hallways, the numerous insides of lockers, because he’s able to take both AP Statistics and AP Calculus at the same time. He’s ten years old, and the mandatory freshman classes like Nevada History put him to sleep.

The singular nice kid in his calculus class gets bullied too, and Spencer wishes he could help him. He’s a foot shorter and fifty pounds lighter than any other kid, but he still wishes he could stand up for Michael.

One day he goes to class and Michael isn’t there anymore. The bullying got to him, and for a single naive second, Spencer believes that he switched schools. And then that second ends. Spencer’s singular friend has killed himself.

He comes home with tears in his eyes and hides underneath his blanket, doing his best to ignore his mother’s ramblings from across the hallway. Spencer covers his head with his old quilt, ignoring the stuffiness and lack of oxygen. He wraps his arms around his waist and puts pressure on his body, sobbing out tear after tear.

Even after Spencer’s done crying, he stays underneath his blanket where the world can’t get him. No one will ever be able to attack him from underneath all of these layers.

It’s still hot during Las Vegas October days, but Spencer wears a jacket anyway. He starts walking with his hands stuck under his armpits because he feels safer. He starts lacing his shoes behind his ankles so they can’t get torn off.

Of course, none of this helps when the cheerleaders and football team have decided that they’ve had enough. They had driven one kid to suicide, so what’s another?

One by one, Spencer’s layers get torn off. First his jacket, and then his shoes. Suddenly he only has a single layer between his fragile body and the horrific world around him. But they don’t stop there. The kids with their angry eyes look down on him and reach for his body.

First it’s his shirt, exposing Spencer’s pale chest to all of their prying eyes. And then it’s his socks, leaving him vulnerable to anything on the ground. They rip off his pants, ruining the small patches of fabric that Spencer tried to cover the holes with. In the blink of an eye, they pull down his underwear and he’s naked.

Spencer doesn’t have any protection from the world around him, or the prying eyes, or the venomous smiles of the murderous students. He doesn’t have any armor when they degrade him with their words and flying fists. Spencer has never been so exposed.

He dreams of his mom saving him, he dreams of his dad saving him, he dreams of Michael somehow saving him, but none of that happens. There is no saving, Spencer stays tied up to an old goal post until the sun goes down, and even more then.

It’s late into the night when Mr. Cooper, the photography teacher, finds him after coming into work to grab something he left on his desk. Spencer watches, shakes in fear, as Mr. Cooper has a monstrous glint in his eye. Luckily for Spencer, Mr. Cooper unties him and drives him home, not touching a single hair on his body.

When Spencer arrives home, there are newspapers taped to the insides of all of the windows, and all of the lights are on. With shaking fingers, Spencer turns off three of the stove burners, not knowing how long they have been on, and tells him mom goodnight.

She tells him to not bother her while she’s grading papers.

When Spencer goes to bed that night, he doesn’t take off his clothes. He’s able to maneuver enough to put on his pajamas over his school time clothes, but he doesn’t take them off. Spencer pulls up the fitted sheet from the old mattress and ends up sleeping under that along with all of his other blankets.

It’s hot, too hot, and Spencer sweats through his layers the entire night.

He wouldn’t have it any other way.

The next morning, Spencer promises himself that it won’t ever happen again. Never, ever, ever again. When he takes a shower he hates that he has to get naked, and purposely avoids looking in the mirror. He puts on two layers afterwards, and no one’s there to notice.

The next Monday, school is completely normal. None of the students were punished for driving Michael to suicide, or for assualting a ten year old boy. The world keeps on spinning, even as Spencer wears an old jacket in eighty degree weather.

Just like all of the previous years, Spencer loves winter all too much. He can wear long, thick pants, and longer jackets to cover his underweight frame. He can wear two long sleeve shirts underneath a sweater, and no one will judge him for it. Spencer stacks up his armor like his life depends on it, and for the first time in months, he feels safe going to school.

His scientific mind tells him that it’s a coincidence that he isn’t strung up outside since he started wearing more layers, but the emotional part of his brain says otherwise. When March rolls around, Spencer continues to wear his layers. He’s never going to take off his armor again, and that’s a promise.

In the sweltering heat of the summer, Spencer walks to the library in long sleeves, listening to the cacophony of old cars and little birds whistle down the street. Every time he wears his button up shirts it makes Diana smile, so he continues to, even though they’re far too thin for his liking. To solve this, Spencer wears a short sleeved shirt underneath.

One of the librarians tuts about how hot Spencer must be, and he makes up some smile with his lopsided glasses and toothy smile. She doesn’t bother him anymore.

Spencer continues his journey to cure schizophrenia, but he isn’t getting much progress. He reads through every single book on genetics, and he’s still stuck. On the plus side, the last time he timed himself he’s now up to 15,000 words per minute on his reading speed, and he guesses that he’ll be able to make that even faster by the time he’ll reach adulthood.

On one July evening, Spencer has to walk a mile and a half to the nearest payphone to pay the electricity bills for his mother. He doesn’t want to admit it, but she’s getting worse. It’s been weeks since Diana’s showered, and Spencer knows that it isn’t going to change either.

Two days later, Diana screams at Spencer that he’s a spy, and he has to leave the house or she’ll kill him. Spencer goes to the library, but not before she slaps him.

It stings, but not as much as it stings his heart. 

Spencer hides in the corner of the library until it closes at 9 PM, and he takes an extra lap around the neighborhood before opening the old screen door and coming home. Diana tsks softly when she sees the red mark on Spencer’s face.

“What happened baby? Did you get hurt?”

Spencer covers the skin of his hands by shoving them in his pockets. “It was my fault.”

He thinks that’s the truth, anyway. He isn’t really sure if it is.

Unfortunately, Spencer gets plenty of time to dwell on the fact when Diana’s good days become few and far between. Sometimes he’s able to coax her into eating some microwaved beans, or occasionally a bowl of cereal, but it often doesn’t work. 

Spencer barely eats more than his mom, and every time he walks past the kitchen, the empty cabinets taunt him. His peanut butter sandwiches become half-sandwiches, and soon enough his evening meals become sleep. Both him and Diana grow frail and skinny, and any onlooker can tell that the entire family is sick.

Spencer starts his final year of highschool at eleven, knowing he’ll be able to graduate at the end of the second semester. He’ll be twelve, and it’ll be the youngest anyone has ever graduated from his school.

On the first day of his senior year, Spencer wears an extra shirt underneath his button up, and wears his longest socks. He tapes over the holes on his shoes so no one can see the bright blue socks through the soles, and takes extra care to tie the laces tight. Spencer makes sure that the cuffs of his shirt fall below his wrist, almost to his thumb, and cover the rest of his hands by keeping them underneath his armpits or in his pockets as much as he possibly can.

This year, Spencer will be safe, he’ll make sure of it.

After a single week of school, the guidance counselor asks him how his home life is, and Spencer very quickly becomes an expert on answering her questions correctly. His genius is no match for her inquisitive questioning.

“Do you feel safe at home?” Yes.

“Do you ever grow hungry at home?” No.

“Are you ever worried about the safety of you or your siblings?”

Spencer decides that the questions aren’t even worth answering if she doesn’t bother to change them to his situation. It’s no secret that Spencer doesn’t have any siblings, but it’s obvious that the guidance counselor doesn’t care enough about him to check.

A month later, Diana grabs Spencer's wrist and no matter what he says, she won’t let go. The next morning at school Spencer dresses in his long coat so his wrists will be completely hidden the entire day. He’s careful when he raises his hand to not reveal the bruise on his forearm, and frequently checks to make sure that his body is covered during his classes.

The year gets worse and worse, just like Diana, and Spencer doesn’t know what to do. The libraries open late on Sundays, so he goes to the thrift store beforehand. With money that should’ve been used to pay for microwave dinners, Spencer buys a used pair of pants.

It’s a size too big, and he’s there’s enough space around the waist to fit a whole other child. But that’s not the important part. The important part is that the cuffs reach down to his heel, and drag on the floor when he walks. This way, his ankles will never, ever be shown. Not even his socks.

They quickly become his favorite pair of pants.

Spencer doesn’t have to apply to colleges so much as every single college finds his address and sends him mail after mail after mail, begging him to come. They coax him with the promise of a full ride and new adventures, and for the first time in Spencer’s life he knows what it feels like to be wanted.

With a licked stamp, Spencer sends a letter back to CalTech.

Underneath Spencer’s graduation robes lie a long sleeve shirt and his favorite pants, ending at the sneakers he’s had since fifth grade. There are crying parents and plenty of younger siblings running around, being scooped up by their grandparents. Everyone is hugging their loved ones, incredibly excited, smiles of pure joy on their face.

Spencer goes home on the city bus, just him and his diploma.

Every day for a week Spencer tells Diana about how he’s going to live in Pasadena, and some of the neighbors are going to check up on her every few days. By the seventh day, Diana not only remembers, but understands.

She’s having one of her good days when she pats his cheek and tells him, “You’re far too skinny, Spencer. You need to be eating more.”

Spencer just smiles and tells her, “Okay.” She doesn’t know that they don’t have enough money for meals, and she doesn’t know that she isn’t eating either. What Diana doesn’t know can’t hurt her though. Spencer’s figured that out a while ago. 

The librarians end up raising money for Spencer’s bus ticket to California, and send him off with his favorite textbooks from the library, all wrapped in newspaper and twine. Spencer cries and hugs them, not knowing that it’ll be the last time he sees those lovely ladies.

On the bus, Spencer stays curled up against the window with his old jacket covering his tiny body. There’s, understandably, quite a few stares toward the twelve year old boy, but Spencer knows they can’t get to him underneath his clothes. He’s wearing two shirts and two pairs of socks, so he’s safe.

The bus becomes a greenhouse and the heat becomes nearly unbearable, but Spencer doesn’t dare to shed his layers. He’s safer overheating than taking off the jacket, he knows that for a fact.

College is finally the place where Spencer knows he belongs.

Instead of being bullied by the kids around him, he gets looks of astonishment. Prying eyes become ones of wonder and awe, rather than disgust and anger. The students in his classes talk to him, and sometimes quiz him on his eidetic memory, and for the first time in Spencer’s life, he feels like he belongs.

Every day, Spencer gets up and learns a million new things. The librarians become absolutely enamored by Spencer climbing up on his tippy toes to reach the books, and they put in extra step stools just for him.

In his Introductory Psych class, he meets a sophomore named Mari, who gives him an eraser when his runs out. At the end of the class, she affectionately ruffles his hair, and Spencer goes back to his single-person dorm room with a smile on his face. When he writes one of his daily letters to his mom, he tells her that this is the place where he belongs.

In November when it starts getting cold, Mari fusses over Spencer’s old jacket, making faces when he reports that he doesn’t have anything else. 

“That jacket looks older than me, Spencer. Are you sure you don’t have anything else?”

With squinted eyes, Spencer replies, “Actually, there’s a good chance that this jacket  _ is  _ older than you. It used to be my dad’s.”

“Yeah I can tell, it nearly reaches your knees! C’mon, we’re going to the mall tomorrow, and I’m going to get you a new one.”

Drawing circles with his finger on his psych textbook, Spencer admits, “I don’t have enough money for a new jacket, especially a winter one.”

“I’ll pay for it.”

She says it so plainly that Spencer does a double take. “What?”

Smiling awkwardly, Mari confesses, “My dad has tons of money, he won’t even notice. And you need a new jacket, you know.”

Spencer muses on that fact for a few seconds before questioning, “Tomorrow?”

It feels like a strange thing to admit, but Spencer’s never been to the mall. He’s been to grocery stores plenty of times before, grabbing cans of nonperishable food for him and his mom, but he’s never been to the mall.

It’s big and bright and there are flashing lights wherever Spencer goes, and it puts his skin on edge. Mari seems rather comfortable, and Spencer easily deduces that she’s often at the mall.

They pick out a deep blue jacket, and Mari doesn’t let him see the price tag. After they buy it, she rips the paper from the fabric and tosses it, ensuring that Spencer won’t be able to see how much she paid for it.

Spencer feels something in his chest, and it’s the same feeling when the librarians gave him a brick of textbooks wrapped in newspaper. Before he knows it, he’s crying in a store that he’s never been to in a mall that he’s never seen.

“Spencer, what’s wrong? Is it the jacket?”

Through sobs, he admits, “No one’s ever bought me something before,” And Mari holds him tight for long seconds that turn into minutes.

She buys him a salty pretzel and a weird plasticy cheese sauce to go with it, and it’s the best day since Spencer got confirmation of his full ride to college. 

He meets the rest of Mari’s friends later that week, and they all coo over Spencer as if he wasn’t a hyper intelligent genius. And he loves it.

This is what it feels like to be loved, and Spencer honestly can’t get enough of it. He ends up studying with Mari and her friends, even though they don’t share too many classes together. She’s decided to major in psychology, while Spencer wants to major in chemistry and engineering. She pokes fun at the fact that he’s double majoring in just three years, but Spencer doesn’t mind. It’s a nice relief to be teased friendly, rather than torn apart by the seams because of his intelligence.

Winter break is slow for Spencer. Mari goes back to Oregon to be with her family, and the rest of her friends leave too. He’s allowed to stay on campus, which he takes full advantage of, but it just doesn’t feel right.

He’d gotten so used to the feeling of friends that he’s now lonely without them, for the first time in his life. Luckily it’s short lived, and in the spring semester Mari is back.

She, not so subtly, continues to buy Spencer new clothes and school supplies, even when he tells her that it isn’t necessary. Spencer gives a half lie and says that he always wears a size bigger because he doesn’t like his clothes to be tight, but Mari doesn’t notice the fib.

When it starts getting warmer, Spencer is able to stomach a single long sleeve layer on top, along with his favorite pair of pants. It’s the first time in awhile that Spencer’s felt safe enough for this, which seems to be the theme of college.

Spencer wonders that if Michael made it to college he would’ve been okay.

Mari leaves for summer, and Spencer stays. He finds a job with the help of his chemistry professor, which is impressive given the fact that not many people would accept a job application from a thirteen year-old. He’s not allowed near some of the chemicals in the lab, but he’s still able to take notes and write reports, and summer feels so right.

In the lab, it’s mandatory to wear pants and shirts that cover the limbs, and Spencer thrives in that environment. He hasn’t thought much about what he wants to do in life, but this is a strong contender.

Spencer’s second year in college is Mari’s junior year, and she spends the entire time being stressed. Her work load almost counters Spencer’s, and she ends up spending most of her time studying. They meet in the library and trade notes, giving each other mini lectures on topics the other doesn’t understand.

After fall finals, Mari tells Spencer that she doesn’t know what she’d do without him. That she would’ve failed all of her classes if it weren’t for him.

Spencer catalogues the emotion he feels at that moment. It’s this feeling again: to be needed- to be  _ wanted. _ Spencer likes this feeling.

This time, before Mari goes back home to Oregon, she asks him, “When are you heading back home?”

Mari has developed a sixth sense to tell when Spencer’s lying, so he doesn’t even try to. “I don’t go back home over the holidays.”

“Why not?”

“I like it better here.” It’s not a lie, but both of them know it’s not the whole truth.

When Mari comes back after Christmas, she brings him a present, and says it’s from her and her family.

It’s one of those ridiculously fancy fountain pens, the kind that you refill when it runs out, so he never has to throw it away. After writing with it once, Spencer instantly falls in love with it, and gives Mari a hug. He’s been doing a lot of that lately. Hugs.

They’re quite enjoyable, and Spencer wishes that it didn’t take him this long to realize that.

They make it through the end of the second semester, and Mari asks him if he knows where he’s going to go for grad school, knowing that there’s no way he’s stopping at a couple of bachelor’s degrees.

Spencer tells her that CalTech will continue to pay for his school if he stays for graduate school, so he’ll probably stay here. He also tells her that it’s close to home, but doesn’t expand on that.

With an understanding face, Mari tells him that she’s not going to stay here for her master’s in psychology, and Spencer tries to hide his disappointment. He knew that it was coming, but it still hurts.

That night, Spencer wraps himself in a CalTech sweatshirt that one of Mari’s friends bought for him a few months ago, and pulls the blankets up to his chin. When that’s not enough, he pulls the blankets over his head, staying under until he starts getting light headed from the lack of oxygen.

If he’s a little bit more somber in his linear algebra class the next day, nobody says anything. Spencer knows that he’s still going to get another year with his friend, his very first friend since Michael, but it still hurts knowing that she’s going to leave.

Mari takes him to the mall when she goes with her friends, and it becomes a habit to get a salty pretzel before they head back to campus. It’s a nice pattern, and Spencer can’t help but notice that it makes him calm down each time.

Mari must notice it too, because one day after her cognitive psychology class she asks him, “Have you ever thought about autism?”

Spencer knows where this is going, but he tries to play coy. “What do you mean? In what context?”

“In the context of yourself.” Mari answers. Spencer usually likes her ‘cut to the chase’ attitude, but just today he wishes they could stick with small talk.

“Why?”

“‘Cause you display a lot of autistic traits.”

“Does that bother you?”

“Why would it bother me?” She counters, eyebrows raised.

Tapping his pen against the textbook, Spencer replies, “I don’t know. What brought this up? Did something happen?”

Mari shakes her head. “Nothing happened, I’ve just been thinking about it. Have you ever gotten tested?”

Spencer nearly laughs at that question. “It can cost over a thousand dollars to get tested for something that the knowledge of which wouldn’t even change my life.”

After taking a few seconds to decipher the hidden meaning between Spencer’s words, Mari tries, “Have you ever thought about getting tested?”

“Autism isn’t exactly something that I’d want to broadcast,”

“I mean just for yourself. Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Pursing his lips, Spencer admits, “Not particularly.”

Mari gives him a smile. “That’s what I like about you, Spencer. You’re very confident about yourself.”

“I am?” He certainly doesn’t feel that way. At least, not without a long jacket on.

“Maybe not in the traditional way, but I think so.”

“Oh. Thank you.” Spencer replies, before going back to reactions between noble gasses.

The summer before both of their final years is the hottest summer Pasadena has gotten in over a decade, and Spencer sweats through his lab coat every day at work. He thinks that it should bother him more than it actually does. He still doesn’t wear any thinner layers, sufficing with his long button up shirts just fine.

One of Mari’s friends drops out before her senior year, but otherwise nothing of interest happens that summer. Spencer gets a new professor in advanced inorganic chemistry, and he lets Spencer stay late every day to do extra experiments in the labs. After talking about his thesis one late December day, he forces a page limit on Spencer.

For the entire winter break Spencer has to decide what he has to cut in his thesis to make everything fit, given the fact that he still has an entire semester to add on to it. Apparently his teachers conspired during the break, and his engineering professor puts a page limit on that thesis too.

When Mari comes back after break, Spencer slumps down in a library chair and complains to her about all of these limits being put on him. When he’s done, he looks up to see Mari just smiling at him.

“What?” He questions.

Holding in a laugh, Mari explains, “You’re probably the first student to ever complain about their thesis having to be too  _ short, _ Spencer.”

“You think?”

Unable to contain her laugh anymore, Mari chuckles, “Oh, I know so.”

June appears suddenly, and before Spencer knows it, Mari and her friends are pinning up his robes with safety pins in order to fit his sixteen year old frame. He thinks he’s finally hit his growth spurt because he’s grown at least an entire inch in less than a month, but he won’t be able to grow five more in the span of a few hours before graduation.

“Are you excited?” She asks, adjusting his cap.

Smiling, Spencer admits, “I think I am.”

“Well good,” Mari grins. “Now I don’t have to be excited for you.”

When Spencer’s name is called, Mari’s family cheers for him in place of his own, and even without a mirror he knows that he’s blushing. Mari picks a place for a graduation dinner, and forces him to tag along.

Despite all of his fears, Mari’s family likes him, and her sisters spend the entire time begging him to recite random things that he’s read throughout his life.

Spencer sits on her old dorm room bed while Mari packs up, kicking his legs back and forth. He hopes that soon he’ll be tall enough for his legs to reach the ground.

Mari hugs him and kisses the top of his head when she leaves, and Spencer cries more than when he left the Las Vegas librarians. She makes him promise to call her, and an instant later, she’s gone.

That summer feels a little bit more slow, but Spencer still makes it through the sweltering heat in the labs. Plus, he keeps growing throughout the entire summer, which brings a smile to his face when he puts his back against the wall and makes a new pencil mark.

It’s Spencer’s last week working in the lab when he gets an award for his studies there, and a piece of him wishes that Mari were there to see it.

The next day, Spencer rolls up the cuffs of his shirt a few inches. His heart beats fast the entire day, but nothing happens to him, and when he covers himself with blankets at night, it’s with a smile on his face.

With his favorite pen, Spencer marks down class after class for grad school, and stands up from the library table without looking up.

“Shit!”

Spencer immediately looks up, heart skipping a beat. “Sorry!”

There’s a chuckle from the man- the boy- he’s run in to, before he apologizes himself, “Sorry, you just scared me. You okay?” He’s small, just like Spencer is, and he can’t help but feel a little bit more comfortable in that fact.

Nodding quickly, Spencer replies, “Oh yeah, I’m- I’m fine. Are you?”

“Yeah, I’m okay. What’s your name?”

“Spencer Reid.” He appreciates the fact that the boy doesn’t hold out a hand to shake.

“Oh cool,” He notes. “I’m Ethan.”


	2. Opening My Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spencer starts seeing a lot more of that Ethan boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *ahem* You all better get ready for the gayyyyyyyy
> 
> Like seriously, it's so fucking gay I love it xD

On the first day of graduate school, Spencer realizes that he’s grown too much. His favorite pair of pants that used to hang down to his heels now barely reach his ankles, making his insides itch. He thinks about how Mari would’ve taken him to the mall to get new jeans, but quickly pushes that thought out of his head.

The boy that Spencer bumped into in August, Ethan, is in a fair amount of Spencer’s classes. It’s surprising, given that he’s only an undergrad. As it turns out, he and Ethan aren’t that different. They’re both hyper intelligent, and Spencer isn’t sure what to do with that information in the beginning.

At first, Spencer works extra hard, attempting to compete with a kid who he barely even knows, not knowing that Ethan’s doing the same. They get paired together on a project, and both of them send nasty looks to each other.

They agree to meet at the library to go over the project, and an hour later, they’re both shrieking from laughter, single handedly raising the noise in the CalTech library. Neither of them are sure what happened, but they suddenly fit so well together. Their little mental battles become poking fun at each other, and their nasty glares across the lecture halls become awkward smiles before one of them inevitably looks away.

The very first day the temperature dips below ninety degrees, Spencer gives that as an excuse to start wearing jackets again. When Ethan sees him, he laughs at him and calls him a California boy who can’t stand the cold, and Spencer doesn’t even try to correct him.

His pants begin to ride up his legs more and more, and Spencer begins wearing two layers of socks again, just to keep his ankles covered with two layers. Now that he can eat three meals with his scholarships, Spencer’s ankles aren’t as bony as before, but they certainly aren’t what they should be.

When the leaves start turning orange, falling from their branches, Ethan finds Spencer at lunch and forces him to sit outside with him, something about enjoying the air. Spencer doesn’t exactly find the air enjoyable, but it’s nice being in someone else’s company.

Against all odds, Spencer makes another friend after Mari, all by himself.

He’s a little too proud of that feat.

One day when Spencer gets up, his beloved pair of pants don’t even reach his ankles. They’re still wide around the waist, a few extra inches of space, but they’re too short, and Spencer doesn’t know what to do. He wears his tallest socks before finding Ethan in the library where they meet during their free time.

Naturally, Ethan instantly notices. With raised eyebrows, he questions, “You’ve been growin’, huh Spence?”

Making a face, Spencer dodges, “‘Spence’? Where’d that come from?”

“Thought I’d try it out,” Ethan replies with a shrug. “Why? Does it bother you?”

A little too quickly, Spencer shakes his head, “No, no, it’s fine. I guess I like it?”

Laughing, Ethan replies, “Well good! Spence it is, then. So are you gonna do anything about those pants of yours…? Or just, I don’t know, wait ‘till they ride up to your knees?”

“I don’t know,” Spencer cofesses, sliding down into one of the chairs in the library.

“Have you bought new pants yet?”

“No? Why would I?”

“Because these are way too small for you?” Ethan mutters, giving him a look of disbelief.

Spencer just scrunches up his face. “Yeah, I guess.” He tears open his textbook and uncaps his fountain pen when he realizes that Ethan is still looking at him. “What?”

“You’re not gonna buy new pants, are you?”

Sighing, Spencer mutters, “I just don’t really know where I would go. Plus I’d have to save up some money first.”

Ethan looks at his eyes. “You have to save up money to buy a single pair of pants?”

Spencer can feel his shoulders involuntarily shrink into his body, and he wishes, more than ever, that he decided to wear an extra shirt. Or maybe triple up on his socks. Anything would be better than how he feels right now.

Luckily, Ethan seems to notice and quickly covers his tracks, “Not that there’s anything wrong with that! I’m not judging or anything. I’m just…” He awkwardly makes a motion with his hand, “Worried. How’ve you been buying clothes before now? You are in grad school, right?”

Hunched over, Spencer confesses, “A girl bought them for me.”

He can nearly feel Ethan’s grin from where he is. “A girl? Spence, you’ve got skills!”

“Not like that!” Spencer blushes. “Besides, I was like, thirteen. That’s gross.”

“Yeah? How old are you now?”

“I’ll be sixteen in like a week. Why?”

Giving him a look Ethan replies, “Oh, damn, I thought you were like seventeen or something.”

“Why seventeen?”

“‘Cause that’s how old I am.” Ethan replies, before puffing out his chest a little. “I went to college a year early.”

Grinning, Spencer points out, “Well with that logic, I went to college six years early,”

Mature as ever, Ethan sticks his tongue out at Spencer. “Stupid little genius,”

Spencer uncurls ever so slightly and jokes, “That’s quite the contradiction. Stupid and a genius?” He laughs when Ethan tries to flick his nose.

“Yeah, well, shut up,” He weakly counters. “Seriously though, when’re you gonna get new pants? You look like a dork.”

With a shrug, Spencer replies, “I don’t know.”

“Hey, you know today’s Saturday, right?”

“What about it?”

“We can go to the mall right now. Get you more clothes.”

“I can’t afford new clothes,” Spencer responds, turning back to his book.

A second later, Ethan replies, “I’ll pay for it,”

“Ethan, you can’t-”

“I can and I will. I’m not gonna let you walk around campus lookin’ like a dork.” He grins.

Spencer furrows his brow. “I do not look like a dork.”

“Uh, yeah, you do.”

“Do not.”

“Do too,”

Huffing, Spencer admits, “This is juvenile.”

Clapping his textbook closed, making a few students in the library jump in their seat, Ethan announces, “Great! ‘You ready to go grab some clothes?”

As it turns out, the mall feels different when he’s not in it with Mari. She would confidently stride through it, pointing out all of her favorite places, smiling at babies in strollers. With Ethan, they both awkwardly fumble around the building, somehow getting lost.

Spencer chalks that up to the fact that Ethan keeps watching his feet when he walks, fitting each of his shoes into the tiles. He nearly ran into five different people. Spencer isn’t sure where he should be buying clothes from, and at some point Ethan shoves him into a store.

“Find something to wear. It’s on me, I promise.”

Although a bit overwhelmed by all of the choices, Spencer nods and starts touching some of the different pant fabrics. He eventually settles on a corduroy pair that’s allegedly specially made for taller men. It almost hangs down to his heels, and Spencer buys it a size bigger, just in case. 

When Ethan questions him about it, Spencer just lies and says it’s because he’s probably going to keep growing. He puts it on as soon as he gets back to his dorm (still a single, CalTech is too scared to put him with an older teen), and he instantly feels better. 

With the extra length down his legs, Spencer tears off one pair of socks, which also gives his toes a bit more room in his shoes. With one last goodbye to his faithful pair of pants, Spencer throws away the thrift store jeans.

Spencer ends up growing another inch before winter break, but his growth spurt seems to have slowed down enough to where he probably won’t grow much more. Based on what he remembers of William’s height, Spencer thinks that he probably has another growth spurt in his future. Hopefully not the near future though, he quite likes his new corduroy pants.

It’s no surprise that Spencer isn’t able to hide the fact that he stays at school during winter break, but it was a surprise that he offered to take Spencer home with him. Despite the coaxing, Spencer isn’t ready to jump into a functional family any time soon.

On Christmas Eve Spencer’s huddled under his blankets and jackets, learning about functions. The day passes without any fanfare, just the way he’s used to it.

When all of the students come back in January, Spencer gets a pang in his heart knowing that Mari won’t be one of the returning kids. He misses her more than he thought he would, and it hurts more than when he left the librarians back home.

Ethan’s able to distract him with their weekly studying, and Spencer’s grateful for that.

Of course, the weekly studying turns into weekly bickering, but it still works. They’re both smart enough to do fine in their classes without the extra work. Spencer meets Ethan’s roommate Mark, who gives an awkward wave to Spencer when he first meets him, before zooming out of the room like Spencer’s carrying the plague.

They’re both on Ethan’s bottom bunk, going over nuclear fission, when Ethan speaks up.

“So, hey, Spence,”

Pulled out of his learning trance, Spencer questions, “Huh?”

“Even though you’re a grad student you still live in the dorms, right?”

“Yeah,” Spencer nods. “It’s part of my scholarship. Why?”

Swallowing, Ethan replies, “I was thinking, next year, you wanna be roommates with me? Like, share a dorm together?”

Spencer’s never shared a room with anyone before in his life, and if he’s being honest, he doesn’t even know all of the ins and outs that come with sharing a room. Despite that, he doesn’t hesitate when he answers, “Yeah!”

Ethan gives a sigh of relief, and Spencer wonders if he actually thought he’d say no to that. “Cool! I’m glad. I mean, Mark’s great and all, but he’s kinda a weird guy.”

Spencer nods before confessing, “I’ve never lived with anyone before. Not in the same room, anyway.”

“No siblings?”

“Nope.” 

“Oh. Well, it’ll be fun. And another plus is that I won’t have to room with Mark anymore,”

Turning a page, Spencer questions, “What don’t you like about him?”

“I dunno, man.” Ethan admits. “Something about him just gives me the heebie jeebies, you know?”

Spencer raises his eyebrows. “The ‘heebie jeebies’?”

Rolling his eyes, Ethan replies, “You know what I mean,” He gives a quick grin to Spencer before nodding at the textbook between them. “Now c’mon. This nuclear fission isn’t going to learn itself.”

“That doesn’t even make sense,” Spencer murmurs, but he’s already back to focusing once more.

Unsurprisingly, Ethan goes back home over the summer, and Spencer is left at CalTech like has been, every year before. He calls up Mari one day and they end up talking for hours upon hours, and when he hangs up, Spencer feels both better and worse. He isn’t used to missing someone this much.

One of Spencer’s professors sets him up with a paid internship with a few other scientists, and he’s able to distract himself with that. If there’s one thing Spencer can do, it’s distract himself with learning.

In August, he moves in with Ethan in the dorms, and it feels like one of the strangest things Spencer has ever done. The double is barely bigger than Spencer’s single, but all of his belongings are mostly textbooks, so it doesn’t bother him too much.

It does, however, bother Ethan. The entire time he’s unpacking, Ethan keeps poking and prodding Spencer, asking where the rest of his stuff is, where all of the little knick-knacks that one Spencer Reid must have. Spencer didn’t realize how many random objects the average person has until he’s roomed with Ethan. 

He has pictures of him and his family, playing cards, even a metronome stuffed under his bed. Ethan has enough clothes that Spencer swears he would only have to do laundry a couple times per semester, and that’s not even pushing it. The older boy even has a full set of poker chips, which Spencer can’t help but perk up at.

Spencer makes a face at Ethan when he realizes he has not only a backpack but also a bookbag, but doesn’t say anything. Spencer wonders if this is what normal kids bring to college. He’s never been normal, though. He’s a sixteen year-old in graduate school.

Ethan turns eighteen right as the semester starts, and tries to drag Spencer to a party, but they both very quickly realize that Spencer isn’t fit for the party scene. Spencer has a few sips of alcohol, but based on the disgusted face he makes afterward, Ethan knows that he won’t be bringing him back.

Despite the fact that Spencer’s getting his master’s in chemistry, Spencer decides to take a few psychology courses this semester in honor of Mari. And in honor of the fact that he’s dreadfully missing her.

He ends up taking a human behavior course, which he enjoys far more than he thought he would. Mari much preferred social psychology, but Spencer can’t understand how someone couldn’t like this course.

During his lunches with Ethan, Spencer ends up spending the entire time infodumping about his psychology course, and Ethan has to keep reminding Spencer to eat. It’s not cruel though, Ethan laughs between bites of his sandwich, smiling at Spencer reciting the lecture nearly word for word.

At the end of one of their lunches, Ethan speaks up, “Hey, Spence,”

“Yeah?”

“You wanna go down to the music rooms after classes today?”

Spencer pauses, making sure there’s no hidden meaning, before accepting, “Sure. Why?”

“A surprise,” Ethan cryptically answers.

Scrunching his nose, Spencer complains, “A surprise? You know I hate those,”

“Don’t worry, this will be a good one, I promise.”

“I believe you. After classes?”

“Yep,” Ethan confirms, before taking a glance at his watch. “You gotta go to chem now, Spence. Don’t be late.”

Spencer leaves with a smile after gathering up all of his things in his arms. Ethan frowns, not for the first time wondering why he doesn’t have any sort of bag.

Spencer has never been down to the music rooms, and the cinderblock walls seem like they’re squeezing down on him, but he deals with the feeling for Ethan. As promised, it was a good surprise.

Ethan sits him down on a chair before playing the piano. Spencer’s never been musically inclined, or even touched an instrument in his life, but he thinks that he could listen to this for the rest of his life. Or at least, the rest of the day before he goes hungry.

The two of them stay down in the room for hours, Spencer slowly rocking to the music, enjoying the jazzy tritones. At some point, Ethan pulls up Spencer from his chair and sits him down on the piano bench next to him. 

“Alright, you ready?”

Spencer gives him a look of fear. “I- uh- what?”

Picking up Spencer’s left hand, Ethan places it on the keys as he explains, “You’re gonna learn to play piano. It’ll be fun! It’s just math, you know,”

However Spencer isn’t thinking about the math of music, or even the fact that he’s never played piano. No, he’s thinking about the fact that he was just touched. His hand, one of the only places where he isn’t covered, was just touched by another hand.

It’s been literal years since that has happened.

“Hey, Spence, you okay?”

Spencer’s head jerks to the side to see Ethan’s concerned face. He quickly swallows before answering, “I’m fine. I just- I don’t really think I’m exactly ready to play piano.”

“Well yeah, I know,” Ethan chuckles. “That’s why I’m gonna teach you.”

“I think I’ll just stick with listening to you.” Spencer answers, but still doesn’t take his hand off of the white keys.

Ethan isn’t deterred. “It’ll be fun learning, I promise,”

“I don’t need to learn,”

“What do you mean?”

Spencer looks at his hands when he explains, “Why would I need to learn to play when all I want to do is just listen to you?”

Even though he can’t see it, Spencer knows that Ethan’s looking at him. He’s silent for a long few moments before quietly saying, “Thank you, Spence.”

When Spencer goes to bed that night, he falls asleep thinking of the way Ethan told him that. “Thank you, Spence.”

“Thank you, Spence.” It puts a warm and fuzzy feeling in his chest, and Spencer doesn’t know why. All he knows is that he sleeps through the entire night, perfectly.

It becomes a pattern of sorts. On Wednesdays, Fridays, and the weekends when they don’t have classes, Ethan brings Spencer down to the music rooms and plays piano for hours. Spencer will bring down his textbooks to study, but after he’s done he’ll just sit against the wall and listen to Ethan’s very own compositions.

Even though Mari’s been gone for over a year, Spencer just feels so happy and secure. Although he still wears his button-ups, Spencer begins to roll the sleeves up to his forearms, and later up to his elbows when he’s working. As Ethan pointed out one day, his arms are incredibly pale, the only evidence that they haven’t seen the sun in over a decade.

Spencer doesn’t mind wearing thin shirts though. Not when he’s with Ethan.

On the second to last lecture before finals in Human Behavior, they have a guest speaker, suddenly out of the blue. At first, Spencer hates it. The class has a strict schedule that he relies on, and a random guest speaker messes everything up.

But after five minutes, Spencer’s absolutely enthralled.

It’s a man named Jason Gideon from not only the FBI, but a special unit, the Behavioral Analysis Unit. Agent Gideon talks about all of the killers he’s found, not by brute force, but by getting inside their minds. Spencer stares wide eyed the entire lecture.

When it ends, Spencer weaves through the students to the middle of the auditorium where Agent Gideon stands to answer any extra questions. Spencer can pinpoint the exact moment that Gideon sets his eyes on him.

“Local highschooler?” He questions.

Quickly, Spencer shakes his head and stutters out, “Ah- no. I’m actually a grad student,” He frowns, quickly covering his tracks, “Not that I’m a grad student in psychology, it’s actually chemistry, and honestly probably engineering too I’m sure I could get my masters at the same time because it’s really just…” Spencer trails off, feeling his cheeks heat up in shame. “Sorry.”

With a smile, Gideon replies, “Don’t apologize. You’re an incredibly intelligent young man, is that so?”

“Yes? I think so. When I turn eighteen I’m going to take an IQ test.”

“How old are you now?”

“Seventeen.”

A few of the other students waiting in line to get their questions answered send Spencer a nasty look for taking up their time, but Gideon doesn’t seem to mind. “And you’re already a graduate student at CalTech?”

“Yes, sir. I have BAs in chemistry and engineering.”

“Impressive.” Spencer doesn’t know how to respond to that, so just gives a smile. “Tell me, are you interested in psychology too?”

Pulling on the hem of his shirt, Spencer admits, “This is only my second psychology course, but I think so.”

“Would you be interested in digging around the brains of monsters?”

Spencer frowns. “I- what?”

Chuckling, Agent Gideon reaches into his breast pocket. “Take my card…?”

“Spencer Reid.” Spencer answers, reaching up to quickly grasp the cardstock.

“Spencer Reid,” Gideon reiterates, as if feeling how the name sits in his mouth. “I have another lecture to speak at, but I think I’d quite enjoy talking with you after. How does that sound, Mr. Reid?”

Although he’s never been good with eye contact, Spencer looks up at him with eyes of wonder. “That- yes! That would be great.”

During lunch with Ethan that day, Spencer doesn’t eat a single thing. Instead he excitedly flaps his arms and wrists back and forth, animatedly explaining every single thing Agent Gideon said during the lecture. It’s a wonderful feeling.

After his classes, he ends up talking with Agent Gideon for hours upon hours, and by the time he makes it back to his dorm room, Spencer has the biggest grin on his face.

“The FBI, Ethan, the FBI! Imagine the possibilities!”

From his bed, Ethan points out, “Spence, you’re barely seventeen! You can’t even vote.”

“Well, I won’t be going now,” Comes Spencer’s easy reply. “But,” His hands flap at the wrist, “Agent Gideon said he would help me get into the Academy, and he said I could even get in a year earlier because of my intelligence!”

“You don’t think that’s suspicious?”

Spencer’s hands still almost instantaneously. “What’s suspicious?”

Making a face, Ethan explains, “Some old guy grooming you to be an agent?”

“He’s not some random old guy!” Spencer counters, “He’s Agent Gideon! He’s one of the people that started the BAU, did you know that?”

“Spence, you’re a chemist! A brilliant one at that, not some FBI agent!”

The face that Spencer gives Ethan breaks his heart. “Why are you so against this?”

Throwing up his hands, Ethan mutters, “It’s just so dangerous to be an FBI agent. And plus, I mean, you’re not really cut out to be one.”

Spencer’s face falls faster than it ever has before. “What do you mean?”

“I mean-” Ethan swallows, attempting to undo what he just said. “You should be a scientist or something, not an agent,”

“Why do you care so much?” Spencer spits at him.

“Why don’t you?” Comes the counter. “FBI Agents get fucking shot at, Spence! You could die!”

Spencer’s taken aback by that statement. “Is that what you’re worried about? Why? You said it yourself, I’m only seventeen I’m not about to join the FBI tomorrow or anything,”

“That’s not the point!”

“Then what is the point?!”

“The point is that it’s dangerous and you could die!”

With a furrowed brow, Spencer questions, “Where’s all of this coming from, Ethan?”

“Fuck, Spencer, you don’t get it, do you?”

“Get what?”

In the blink of an eye, Ethan stands up from his bed and travels the short distance to Spencer. Before looking down and kissing him.

It’s not anything too dramatic, and from Spencer’s limited knowledge of kisses, he’s pretty sure that it’s a short one. He’s still stunned though.

Ethan immediately steps away. “Fuck, fuck! I’m so sorry, Spence, I shouldn’t have done that. I- I’ll leave, I promise-”

Still stunned, Spencer stutters, “W-wait,”

“Spence, I’m so sorry,”

“Ethan,”

“What?”

“I-” Spencer face crinkles in uncertainty. “I think I liked it?”

Ethan looks at him for a few moments before rubbing a hand over his face, “No, no, It’s my fault, please don’t lie and tell me you liked it just to make me feel better.”

“I didn’t lie,”

“Spence, please,”

“I didn’t lie.” Spencer reiterates, more confidently. “I didn’t lie.” He then takes two steps forwards and kisses Ethan again. He doesn’t know why he did that, but Spencer’s not going to think too hard on that fact. “I didn’t lie,” He adds again afterward.

For a long few seconds, Spencer and Ethan stare at each other, both at a complete loss for words. It feels like the world is at a standstill around them.

“Spencer,”

“Yeah?”

“I think I like you,” Ethan softly admits, one of his rare, shy smiles coming out.

Spencer’s entire world seems like it’s changed from that very moment. To him, it feels like everything around him is now different. There’s someone who likes him. Not like his mom, and not like Mari, but  _ like  _ likes him. He knows that the world keeps spinning the same way it has before, but it just feels so different to him. A good different.

They both pass their finals with flying colors, and when winter break starts, Ethan nearly begs Spencer to come back home with him. To spend the holidays with his family. Spencer just awkwardly smiles and says that he has things to do here.

It’s a lie, a blatant one at that, but neither of them comment on it.

For Christmas, Spencer takes his saved up money and goes to the only bookstore open on Christmas Eve, because there weren’t any libraries. He goes to the “real crime” section, and finds every single book on profiling. 

Although Spencer knows he’s not supposed to, he speed reads through all of them without paying for it, as if he was in a library. To make up for it, Spencer ends up buying David Rossi’s two books. He’s able to read through both of them on the bus ride home, and he’s already completely enthralled with the Behavioral Analysis Unit.

Before Spencer can think better of it, after he writes a letter to his mom, he writes one to Gideon as well.

As millions of children in California go to bed with the promise of presents in the morning, Spencer wraps himself in his CalTech sweatshirt and burrows underneath his blankets.

He pulls the quilt over his head and lets himself breathe deep. It seems like quite the oxymoron: breathing better when his oxygen supply is cut off, but it works for him. Spencer loves spending time with Ethan, he really does, but sometimes Ethan’s just too outgoing, too extroverted for Spencer’s likes.

When Ethan comes back from holiday he gives Spencer a scarf as a late present.

“I know it doesn’t really get cold in California, but-”

“I love it.” Spencer interrupts, massaging the texture of the knitted scarf between his fingers. “And I love the color too!”

Ethan smiles at him, the smile that only a few people get to see. “Purple’s your favorite color, right?”

“Yeah,” Spencer smiles. He wraps the scarf around his neck and nearly cries. It’s not too itchy, and it covers his neck without having to button up the top of his shirts.

He ends up wearing the scarf nearly every day until April when Ethan points out that it’s eighty degrees, far too warm to be wearing wool scarves. Although Spencer agrees with that sentiment, he still wishes it weren’t true.

Every time Spencer writes to his mom, he writes to Agent Gideon, and at some point the agent sends stamps over to Spencer, as if he knew that it was getting difficult to pay for stamps, of all things. Spencer thinks that it’s a new low of poverty.

Nearing the end of May, Spencer calls his mom, and his neighbor answers instead.

She tells Spencer that Diana is getting worse and worse, and even with the extra help and money he keeps sending over it’s getting nearly impossible. The devolution of Diana’s mental state was inevitable, Spencer’s well aware of that fact, but that doesn’t stop his heart from breaking in two.

Ethan notices, and Spencer ends up confessing everything one day in the music room. The fact that his dad left when he was barely tall enough to reach the kitchen cabinets, his mom’s fits that happened more and more often before he left for college, the fact that he never really had parents like everyone else seemed to have.

The other boy is quiet for a few moments, and Spencer’s afraid that he’s going to leave. Instead, he clears his throat and asks, “It sounds like one of those long term care things would be good for her, you know?”

Shaking his head, Spencer replies, “Even if I could afford it, which I most definitely cannot, there’s no way my mom would agree to live in a place like that.”

“You turn eighteen next October.” 

The unspoken words are loud to Spencer’s ears. “I couldn’t do that to her,”

“Spence, from what you’re telling me, you’re not going to have a choice soon,”

Dropping his head in his hands, Spencer reiterates, “I can’t afford it.”

“You’re from Vegas,”

“So?”

“You know how to play poker, right?”

Grumbling, Spencer mutters, “I always cheat,”

Ethan looks up, thrown off on his thought process. “Wait, what?”

“I learned to play poker when I was really little, because it was all math, and it turned out to be really fun,”

“Okay…?”

“But I can’t stop myself from counting cards.”

There’s a pause before Ethan confirms, “Wait, for real? You count cards?”

“I can’t stop it!” Spencer points out. “It just, I don’t know, happens.”

Ethan bites his lip, and Spencer finds it hard to look away. “Okay, well, that’s a good thing! ‘Cause now we know that you can win, right?”

“I’ll get kicked out if I win too many,”

“Okay, here’s the plan,” Ethan starts, pulling his legs underneath him on the dorm room bed. “We’re going to play a lot of poker before finals, before school gets out. And if you start winning too much too quickly, I’ll point it out.”

It’s obvious from Spencer’s face that he doesn’t follow. “What’s that going to do?”

“Then you’ll know if you’re acting too suspicious, you know? And then when you get the right intuition to how much you can cheat-”

“I can’t help it!”

“-then you’re gonna be able to gamble in Vegas and not get kicked out. ‘Sound like a plan?” Ethan finishes, eyebrows raised.

“I guess so.”

“Great!” Ethan announces, pulling a deck of cards off his desk. “Let’s do this,”

Much to Spencer’s surprise, he does get better at hiding his counting ability, and learns when to purposely lose just to get suspicion off his tail. Though at some point practicing playing poker with Ethan becomes useless, because they both learn their tells and quirks.

Before Ethan leaves for summer break, he buys Spencer a bus ticket with his own money, and shoves a piece of plastic in his pocket when he isn’t looking. Neither of them say anything about the fact that Ethan was able to get a fake ID.

Spencer spends most of his summer getting banned from casinos all over the Strip, but by the end he has thousands upon thousands of dollars. It’s the most money he’s ever owned in his life, and it feels wrong to not be putting it in a bank or something.

In mid July David Rossi publishes his third book, and Spencer reads it before the checkout line in the bookstore even reaches him. While he’s there, Spencer buys a book on Jazz for Ethan. He ignores the butterflies in his stomach when he thinks about Ethan’s reaction when Spencer will give it to him.

Gideon keeps sending him letters, listing courses for him to take, but between Spencer’s Master’s-turned-PhDs, he doesn’t have that much extra time. Especially when he’s counting down the minutes until he turns eighteen.

He and Ethan share a space again, and it becomes nearly impossible for Spencer to hide his anxiety. A thesis for his Master’s degrees turn into dissertations for his doctorates, and Ethan watches as Spencer slowly slips away into studying.

Slowly but surely, Spencer begins to hide away in his clothes once more. His long sleeve shirts don’t seem to shield the anxiety away from him, so he adds on sweaters. Spencer hates that they don’t cover his arms, but at least his vital organs will be protected. One pair of socks become two, and Spencer refuses to wear anything but his corduroy pants.

On the twenty-seventh of October, Ethan buys him a bus ticket, and Spencer makes the trip to Nevada that he’s been dreading.

Spencer’s already called Bennington, already faxed over her existing medical papers, and they’re expecting Diana. All Spencer has to do is get her there.

It’s harder than he thinks it ought to be.

When Spencer comes back on the twenty-ninth, he’s wearing a jacket that looks thirty years old. Ethan calls him out on it, and Spencer just makes himself a little nest in his blankets.

Agent Gideon keeps talking with Spencer, and tells him how he’s gotten approval from the director to hear him out about bringing in a student a year early for the academy. Spencer knows he should be happy about this, but he just isn’t. 

He calls Mari and talks to her for hours on end, and learns that she’s found a wonderful man that she thinks she’s going to go the full way with. Engagement, marriage, kids, all of it.

Ethan comes home from class one day to find a blob underneath the blankets, rather than his boyfriend. “Spence?” When Spencer doesn’t answer, he sets a hand on top of the blankets, which draws quite the attention.

“Don’t touch me!”

Ethan immediately withdraws his hand as if he had just touched a hot stove. “Okay, whoa, I won’t touch you. What’s going on?”

“Just don’t touch me,” Comes the response, muffled by the blankets.

“I’m not gonna touch you Spence. What’s this about?” Spencer doesn’t answer, and Ethan tries to take a guess of his own. “Is this about the autism or something?”

There’s a bit of movement underneath the blankets. “No? Maybe. I don’t know,”

“Was it something that happened today?”

“I could be schizophrenic, you know.”

Ethan opens his mouth three times before he actually speaks. “Is that what this is about? The fact that you could be schizophrenic?”

“I don’t want to be.”

“Well, you’re not, so,” Ethan awkwardly trails off, not exactly knowing what to say.

“You can’t know that.”

Shrugging, even though Spencer can’t see it, Ethan states, “Well, we’ll deal with that if it happens, you know?”

“Will I end up in a hospital?”

“Spence, I think you might be overreacting a little bit-”

“Am I?”

Ethan sighs. “Why are you so worried about this?”

There’s not a response for a few seconds, before, “How could I not be?” That’s the question that Spencer can’t seem to answer. How is he supposed to just go on, keep living his life, when the same thing that happened to his mother could happen to him? He was supposed to have cured schizophrenia by now. Instead, he’s hiding underneath his blankets.

Spencer hates it, but the world keeps spinning. He eventually pulls his body out of the covers, and he goes to all of his classes the next week. Letters continue being sent to Gideon and Diana, but this time Diana doesn’t send any back.

Spencer wonders if he’ll ever be forgiven.

As planned, Spencer takes an IQ test after finals, out of curiosity more than anything. But instead of Diana and instead of Ethan, Agent Gideon is the first one to hear about his results. One hundred and eighty seven. Practically unheard of. Anything higher than a 140 is already extraordinarily rare. 

After Spencer sends the letter, he just gets the feeling of this being all wrong. There had to be some sort of mistake, right? 187 Just doesn’t make sense.

He doesn’t even tell Ethan when he gets back. 

Ethan ends up playing more and more piano, and pretty soon Spencer can’t imagine not hearing Ethan’s jazz every day. It’s become such a staple in his life that he doesn’t know what he’d do without it. Spencer wonders if Ethan feels the same way.

This semester, Spencer spends more time studying and working than any other part of his life, and manages to snag his PhD in chemistry in June, along with his master’s in engineering. It’s only after he’s defended his thesis that the feeling of ‘wrong’ comes back to him.

“Hey, Ethan?”

Ethan’s lying upside down on the bed, head hanging off as he reads upside down. “What’s up, Spence?”

“So you know how you got your bachelor’s this year?”

Ethan gives him a look. “Uh, yeah, I’m aware. Why?”

Biting his lip, Spencer confesses, “I think I want to move somewhere else.”

“Wait, really?” Ethan rolls over to his stomach, giving his full attention to Spencer.

“Yeah,” Spencer nods. “MIT is going to pay me if I go to grad school for engineering over there.” Spencer awkwardly looks away. “For my doctorate, that is.”

“Haven’t you only lived in Nevada and California your entire life?”

“Yeah.”

“MIT’s gonna be a lot different. Different climate, different people, you know that, right?”

Ethan doesn’t mean it in a cruel way, but Spencer still feels himself deflate a little bit. “Of course I know that.”

“And you’re not exactly the best with change, Spence.”

Spencer takes a deep breath. “I want to try something different. And I want you to come with me too. If you want to.”

Ethan smiles. “Of course I’d love to! I can get my master’s there, and we can keep living together?”

Nodding vigorously, Spencer adds, “I still have money that I never used for my mom,”

“What do you mean?”

“Especially after I get paid for TA’ing, we’d have enough money to live in an apartment,” Spencer pulls on the hem of his button-up shirt, “I mean, assuming you’d want to-”

“Spence?”

“Yeah?”

“Kiss me.”

It takes days to pack up all of their stuff, and most of that is the fault of Ethan. That being said, Spencer’s nearly quadrupled his amount of belongings since he came to CalTech when he was twelve. It’s strange to leave a place he’s lived for a third of his life, but Spencer’s confident when he closes his dorm room door for the last time.

After double checking to make sure there aren’t any people in the hallway, Ethan kisses the side of Spencer’s cheek. “You ready?”

Spencer doesn’t have to think twice until he answers, “I’ll be with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The original plan was for this chapter to end at the Academy, and not MIT, which means nothing except for the fact that you all get more Spencer/Ethan haha.
> 
> Thank you all for your kind words from chapter one, they all really made me smile :D


	3. I Can't Tell if Life is Looking Up or Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are too many things happening in Spencer's life, so fast that he can't even categorize them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Hi! It's me :D  
> Before we get into this chapter, I just want to say that even though this is pre series, I'm still bending the canon to my needs, so please don't flame me when you find inaccuracies, because they will be there on purpose!!  
> Another thing: This is the last chapter of pre series, which I don't know if that's good or bad, but yeah! Chapter four will be canon cases :)  
> TW: a singular homophobic slur
> 
> Please enjoy! :D

Ethan was right. MIT was incredibly different from the rest of Spencer’s life.

On the plus side, the colder climate enabled Spencer to wear longer clothes without stares from his peers. Incidentally, that’s the other difference. Spencer now has peers of his same age, and he isn’t exactly sure how to interact with them.

Luckily, he still has Ethan to guide him through.

Ethan’s brilliant as always, and Spencer finds himself taking more and more time to just be in his company. He tells dry jokes that Spencer understands, and always seems to know what to say. He buys a keyboard for their apartment, but Spencer still doesn’t learn piano, much to Ethan’s disappointment.

Jazz has become Spencer’s favorite genre of music, and he doesn’t think that will ever change.

Somewhere along the semester, Diana begins sending the daily letters back to Spencer, and he thinks that he’s been forgiven. Part of Spencer wants to visit her, but the other part doesn’t think that anything could be worse.

The semester goes scarily fast, and based on the classes he’s taking, Spencer knows that he’ll be collecting degrees like Christmas ornaments. Both Spencer and Ethan soar through their finals, and Spencer’s once again being asked to accompany Ethan for winter break.

Both of them are disappointed, but not surprised, when Spencer declines.

He thinks about visiting his mom back in Nevada, but quickly pushes that idea out of his head. Instead, Spencer digs up all of his psychology textbooks and marks connections to them in David Rossi’s books.

The winter months are wonderful, and Spencer wears his purple scarf every day. He wears two layers of shirts underneath his jacket, and puts two layers of socks between his toes and shoes. Nobody brings it up.

Spencer continues to talk with Agent Gideon, and he’s becoming more and more excited to join the FBI. He feels like this is what he should be doing in his life.

In April, the headaches start.

He chalks it up to stress and caffeine, but it’s worrying when they don’t go away for days. He takes ibuprofen with his coffee and keeps it a secret from Ethan. Spencer knows that’s a mistake, but he still doesn’t stop himself.

Early onset schizophrenia can occur around the age of eighteen, but the usual range of symptoms begin mid to late twenties. Spencer should be safe for now, but he still can’t help the nagging feeling that he’s a few moments away from joining his mom.

He feels like a bad person for being scared.

In June, the headaches slow to a stop, and Spencer feels a weight being taken off his shoulders. That summer Ethan decides to stay in the apartment, rather than go back home, and it’s a nice sense of domesticity for the two of them.

Ethan plays at a few gigs, and despite Spencer’s hatred for crowds, he still goes to every one, smiling from the back with a cup of Sprite. At the end of each of the gigs, Ethan always hugs Spencer, kissing him when nobody’s looking.

It feels wrong to hide their love, but Spencer knows this history of violence against queers, and he can’t imagine something like that happening to Ethan.

He calls Mari when the new semester starts, and learns that she’s gotten engaged to the man she always hoped for. Through smiles, Spencer congrats her.

And then he tells Mari of his own man. She’s the very first person Spencer comes out to, and he cries when she isn’t mad. Maybe the world isn’t so bad afterall. He continues to talk with Mari for hours, until she has to leave for dinner. Spencer wishes that they could talk for straight days, ignoring all of the human needs.

Spencer doesn’t wear a jacket that August, and begins to accept the fact that maybe the world really is okay. Maybe there are more people like Mari who will love him, and maybe, just maybe, things will be just fine.

And then Ethan comes home with a bruised face and a broken nose.

In the ER waiting room, Spencer’s leg can’t stop bouncing, no matter how much Spencer tries to make it stop. Ethan puts his hand on Spencer’s knee, but that doesn’t help either. Fingers weave through the texture of his shirt, even when Ethan tells Spencer for the tenth time that he’s okay.

The nurses make Spencer stay in the waiting room because he isn’t family, and for a fleeting second he feels like screaming that Ethan’s practically the only family he has. Instead, he nods and starts rocking in his chair. 

The two of them take the bus home, and Spencer can’t tear his eyes off of the butterfly bandages on Ethan’s face. They make sure to not touch each other too much in public areas, but once they’re back in the apartment, Spencer sticks to Ethan’s side, keeping a physical connection despite the fact that he usually hates to do so.

Neither of them sleep, and Spencer finally asks the question they both knew was coming. “What happened?”

Spencer’s on edge the second Ethan answers with, “It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters,” He counters. “Why don’t you want to tell me what happened?”

“I told you, Spence, it doesn’t matter.”

With a swallow, Spencer requests, “Please, just tell me?”

Ethan sighs, but a few moments later he complies. “They weren’t going to pay me for my last gig. The one from last Friday,”

Spencer frowns. Ethan’s not really one to get into fights, but if it was about money that he rightfully earned, then, “Why not?”

“‘Cause they saw us kiss.” Spencer feels his heart drop out of his chest, even though he logically knows that isn’t possible. “They said they weren’t gonna pay fags.”

There’s a long, pregnant pause where the only thing either of them hear is the wind through the windows. “I’m sorry.”

“No,” Ethan turns towards Spencer, rolling over his bed in the dark. “Don’t you dare apologize, Spence. This isn’t your fault- this isn’t either of our faults!”

“But it wouldn’t have happened if-”

“It happened because they’re fucking- fucking bigots! Not because of you!” Ethan counters, feeling his face heat up with both anger and shame.

Spencer feels his body unconsciously curl up on itself, even though he knows that Ethan isn’t angry at him. The yellings is directed at the hate of the world, but hearing the anger seep out of his voice feels like a punch in the gut.

They’re both quiet again, before Spencer quietly admits, “Sometimes I think the world is okay. But then I realize that I’m only looking at slices of it.”

Ethan muses on that thought for a few seconds before quietly admitting, “Yeah.”

From that point on, they make sure to only kiss in their apartment. Every time they hug in public Spencer’s afraid that Ethan’s going to get hurt again, and before he knows it, Spencer is shying away from even simple touches.

He develops an irrational fear of people learning that he’s queer, and Spencer hides in his jackets, covering as much skin as he can. He begins wrapping his shoe laces around his ankles like he did when he was younger, the fear of bullying coming back full force.

Ethan’s far braver than he is. Ethan still plays music, still finds gigs that pay him, and Spencer wishes that he could be like that too. Instead, Spencer stays inside and flinches away when someone reaches for him, even when it’s his boyfriend.

Spencer begins pouring his heart into his studies, ignoring the rest of the world that passes around him in a blur. He begins collecting bachelor’s like there’s no tomorrow, and soon enough professors are fighting over who gets Spencer as their TA.

It’s nice to be wanted.

Agent Gideon’s letters begin to arrive more and more, and in the blink of an eye, Spencer’s suddenly old enough to apply for the Academy in Quantico. He smoothes out the letter and keeps it on his desk, not knowing exactly what to do with it.

When Ethan plays jazz for him, Spencer talks.

“I think I’m going to apply for the FBI Academy,”

The notes come to a standstill as Ethan turns. “What? You’re twenty, Spence.”

“Agent Gideon got permission for me to enter a year early,”

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

Spencer nods. “I want to do something with my life,”

“You already are doing something with your life. You’re an incredible engineer and chemist, and I know you’re going to make leaps and bounds in the science community,”

Spencer can read between the lines. “Why don’t you want me joining the FBI?”

“I already explained it,” Ethan sighs, “It’s just so dangerous.”

“I want to,” Spencer counters, a surprisingly powerful one at that.

There’s a lapse of quiet until Ethan adds, “I’ll do it too.”

“What?”

Nodding, Ethan expands, “We can go to Quantico together. We won’t have to- we won’t have to leave each other that way. We could still be together,”

With furrowed brows, Spencer questions, “You really want to do that?”

“Yeah,” Ethan replies before he can stop himself.

They both send in applications, and Spencer tells Gideon about the fact that he can’t even pass the preliminary physical tests. Hell, he doesn’t even weigh enough to become an FBI agent. Gideon writes back almost immediately, with the promise that he’ll get physical tests waived for Spencer. It’s strange for Spencer to be wanted this much.

The last semester of school for Spencer and Ethan is filled with stress, and both of them spend less time together. Spencer’s working on his third PhD while Ethan’s still trying to get known in the music world.

That strikes Spencer as an odd thing to do, given that they’re about to go to Quantico, but he doesn’t say anything about it. He knows how important music is to Ethan, and he doesn’t want to be the one to break that up.

So it’s ironic, really, when Ethan pulls Spencer away from his thesis.

“Hey, Spence, can we talk?”

Spencer doesn’t know how to respond to something like this. He suddenly wishes, not for the first time, that Mari was by his side. She’d know what to do. “Sure?”

Ethan nods, and then swallows, looking away from Spencer’s eyes. It’s suspicious, for unlike Spencer, Ethan’s always been able to maintain eye contact. “Um, right, so, I’ve been thinking about Quantico, you know?”

He gets a nod in response.

“And the FBI doesn’t exactly have the greatest track record with gay people,”

It doesn’t take Spencer very long to understand where this conversation is going. “Oh.”

“I mean, you know that, right?”

“Yeah,” Spencer quietly answers.

Ethan nods, awkwardly running a hand through his hair. “I’m just- I don’t know, I was just-” Cutting himself off with a deep breath, Ethan faces Spencer’s eyes once again. “I don’t think it’s safe for us to be a couple in the FBI.”

Spencer knew it was coming, but actually hearing it hurts so much more than he could ever imagine. It reminds him of a physical pain, even though he logically knows that it’s not.

“Spence? Say something?”

While looking away from Ethan, Spencer replies, “Did you want to break up with me before we decided on the FBI?”

“No,” Ethan quickly replies, “No, no, no, I just don’t want you getting hurt. I mean, you know the things that happen to gay people.”

Slowly, Spencer answers, “Yeah.”

In the blink of an eye, Spencer’s happy slice of life has once again been stolen by the cruel world around him. Honestly, it was Spencer’s fault for getting so attached.

Before he knows it, back come the long sleeves underneath the longer sleeves. Back come the two pairs of socks per day, and back comes Ethan’s purple scarf even though it’s far too warm for it. Spencer’s button-ups are never rolled up to his mid arm, and Spencer makes sure that the fabric covers as much of his hands as possible.

Spencer’s hands begin to find their place back in his pockets, away from prying eyes, away from the world around him. His face points down even when he’s walking because he can’t handle the prying eyes that surely must be out to get him.

Unlike every other recruit, Gideon is at Quantico to meet with him. The older man says something about how Spencer’s grown, but Spencer doesn’t see it. He puts a hand on Spencer’s shoulder before the younger man can stop it, and leads him around the grounds.

Even before the first day, he’s introduced to many of the agents, who all give questioning looks at Gideon. After all, who would invite a kid to the FBI?

The first day is nothing but information. Ethan sits away from Spencer in the lecture hall, and he pretends that it doesn’t hurt. Spencer decides that tomorrow he’s going to sit closer to Ethan and attempt to repair their tense friendship.

It never happens.

Because the next day Ethan is gone, all of his things taken from his bunk. All that’s left is a letter to Spencer, apologizing for being a coward, and Spencer feels red hot anger rush through his veins. That’s what Ethan is- was. A coward. A coward who loved Spencer, broke up with Spencer, and then broke his heart once more.

Still, Spencer hopes that he can find love with his keyboard in New Orleans.

As promised, Spencer gets waived out of the physical components of Quantico, but he’s still required to go to some of the classes, for safety reasons. He learns a bit of hand on hand contact, and Spencer hates it with all of his guts.

He goes back to his bunk and rocks back and forth, trying to convince himself to not cry, to not break down, because all of a sudden there are too many people touching him. It’s not just his sparring partner, but the instructor too, correcting his form.

Logically, Spencer knows that they’re helping him, but all he can feel is their evil hands reaching out to the most fragile parts of his body.

Spencer attends the lectures and classes with extra shirts on, and if anyone notices, they don’t say anything. He can’t help but wonder what Ethan would say, or even what Mari would do.

Halfway through the first month, Gideon buys him lunch and talks about the case he’s working in the BAU. Although Spencer’s sure it isn’t allowed, Gideon tells him all of the pieces of evidence, and for the first time in Spencer’s life, he consults on a case.

It gives him a strange feeling. The fact that he actually did something that will change someone else’s life. Spencer decides that he likes that feeling.

In a strange sort of secrecy, Gideon continues to consult with Spencer, and time flies while he’s still getting certified in the Academy. The tests are simple and mind numbing compared to the files that Gideon shows him.

When he graduates from Quantico, becoming his very own FBI Agent, Spencer sits and talks to Gideon. At first it’s just simple things, a strange type of small talk regarding murder victims, but they both know that Spencer’s holding back.

Eventually, he speaks up. “I’m autsitic.”

Looking over his glass of scotch, Gideon replies, “I know, Spencer.”

“Is that a problem? Will I still be able to work with the BAU?”

“Do you still want to work with the BAU?” Gideon questions.

Spencer doesn’t have to think twice before he answers, “Yes, of course! I couldn’t imagine working anywhere else,”

“Well then. There’s your answer.”

Spencer looks at him for a few moments, still not quite understanding. “...Even though I’m autistic?”

With a sigh, Gideon speaks in one of his familiar riddles. “Your medical files were sent over to my team a couple of weeks ago,”

“Okay?”

“And other than being a bit underweight, they’re aggressively average, Spencer.”

“I don’t understand what you’re getting at,”

“You’ve never gotten tested for autism, not officially,” Gideon reminds him, connecting the dots for Spencer. “So according to the FBI, you’re as neurotypical as the rest of us.”

Spencer pushes his lips to the side. “Should I not tell anyone?”

“Ultimately, it’s your choice,” Gideon advises. “But there are certain things in the world that you may be ridiculed for, even if it’s an asset, not a deficit.”

Spencer thinks of Ethan getting beat up because he loved Spencer, and thinks of the men refusing to pay him because of something as simple as a kiss. “I understand.”

Nodding, Gideon holds out a glass to him. “You’re twenty-one now, Spencer. Want to toast your acceptance into the BAU?”

Backpedaling, Spencer questions, “I was accepted?”

“I’m the one that looked over the files,” The older agent points out. “You were going to be on my team from the beginning, that was something I’ve known for years.” With a rare smile, Gideon congratulates, “Welcome to the team, Agent Doctor Reid.”

Spencer smiles back. ‘Agent Doctor Reid.’ That’s something he could get used to.

There aren’t many agents working in the BAU when Spencer begins consulting. He meets Aaron Hotchner, who looks like if left in a room alone with him, he would tear Spencer apart. Spencer tries to not be around him without a buddy.

Apparently he missed being on the team at the same time as David Rossi by a matter of months, which makes Spencer a little too sad. The things he would tell David Rossi if he could talk to him? That’s Spencer’s dream.

While Hotchner and Gideon are in the field for the majority of the cases, Spencer typically stays in the precinct, wrapped up in an FBI jacket so he’ll be taken seriously. Although the jacket is thin and loose, Spencer appreciates the cover that it gives him, both mentally and physically.

The first case is hard, but he was expecting that. What Spencer wasn’t expecting were the dreadful looks from every single police officer. Every single one of them takes one look at him and assumes he’s not supposed to be there. On one rather memorable moment, Spencer gets called a ‘twink,’ and he’s reminded of Ethan.

Spencer knows that Ethan was right all along: the world is cruel because he’s queer. The problem is, he only thought things like this would happen if they had proof. It’s one thing being bullied and prodded by seventeen year-olds when he’s six years younger, but it hurts more when it’s from people that are supposed to be on the same side as him.

At some point, Gideon must’ve heard or noticed it, because he’s suddenly getting introduced as “Special Agent Doctor Reid,” which is honestly just a mouthful. He doesn’t mind though, because if there’s one thing he doesn’t look like, it’s a special agent.

The stares still hurt, though.

Spencer supposes that’s what he gets for still not being an appropriate weight for his height. When one of the officers calls him a twig, he’s not exactly wrong. Still, he’s a twig that works in the FBI, so that’s got to count for something.

A few cases later, another agent joins the team. His name is Derek Morgan, and he has the same look as the bullies did before they strung him up on the goal post. From closed doors he hears Morgan complaining about him, but Spencer doesn’t dare say anything.

It’s only when Spencer corrects something in the profile, something that would’ve caused a life of a victim, that Morgan begins tolerating Spencer. From there, it’s a snowball into friendship. Against all odds, Spencer becomes friends with someone who surely would’ve terrorized him as a child.

Spencer’s constantly waiting for the world to fuck him over, just like it has been for the past twenty two years of his life, but Morgan never snaps at him. Morgan never makes Spencer uncomfortable, and Morgan even works to raise Spencer’s self esteem, as if he knows what it feels like.

Morgan calls him “pretty boy” and Spencer doesn’t know what to do with that information because he’s never been called pretty in his life, Ethan usually went for subtle compliments about his mind, but this- this is so different. And it doesn’t stop either, Morgan keeps calling him pretty, keeps being genuine when he says that they wouldn’t have been able to solve the case without him and his insights.

Spencer begins to make a home in his apartment, living alone, just like he was before Ethan. The only difference is now he doesn’t have a schizophrenic mother to take care of. Slowly but surely, bookshelves are bought and filled up, and a few ceramic mugs make a home for themselves in the cabinet over the sink.

During a case in North Carolina, Aaron - call me Hotch - Hotchner smiles.

For nearly three straight hours, Spencer has to read through wicked journals of the unsub, and at the end, Hotch puts a hand on Spencer’s shoulder and muses, “Good job.”

Spencer soaks up the compliment, comforted with the knowledge that he’ll remember it forever. Like most of the new things in Spencer’s life, it’s a strange, but welcomed, feeling.

Really, he should’ve known that the pattern of new things would continue, and for every good thing, a bad thing would also appear. It’s just like Newton says, ‘For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.’

The reaction comes in the Colorado case. The dreaded Colorado case that starts out completely normal. A married couple as unsubs, kidnapping infants from other couples. It is, sadly, not the first time they’ve worked a case like this.

Spencer remembers a conversation he had with Gideon when he first started the BAU. He told Spencer that the scariest cases are the ones that are cut-and-dry, the ones that are simple. Because they’re always hiding secrets deep inside.

This case was not the exception to that.

They’re able to apprehend the husband, but it’s almost a day later before they’re able to find the wife. Spencer’s left at the precinct while Hotch, Gideon, and Morgan all go after the suspect with the Denver PD.

Spencer has to hear what happened from Hotch, hours later. After hearing it, Spencer wishes that he never asked.

Gideon found the unsub, innocent infant in hand. She was holding a gun, and shot Gideon in the fleshy part of his arm when he tried to talk her down. The woman then shot the infant and then herself, and Spencer’s mentor had a front row seat to it all.

No one’s surprised when Gideon goes on medical leave, and after a bit of deliberation, Spencer decides to follow.

Although he never realized it, Spencer misses academia. He misses the fact that his decisions won’t possibly affect the life of an innocent civilian. But there’s a lot of academia that Spencer won’t ever get to experience again, like studying with Mari and late nights with Ethan.

He pushes that thought to the back of his head while he’s getting more bachelor’s and master’s. Every college nearly begs him to come, promising a free education to boost their name by showing off the fact that a young man with an IQ 187 chose them.

The attention isn’t wanted.

Spencer tries to keep in touch with Gideon, but it’s hard to do so with a man that doesn’t want to talk with him. It’s a horrid reminder of Spencer’s parents. At least Diana’s writing back to him.

All of that being said, Spencer still doesn’t visit his mom. He’s close to, just to be clear, he’s extremely close to visiting her, he’s even bought a bus ticket, but he can’t bring himself to do it. Spencer knows that it’s incredibly cruel of him, but the fear of becoming schizophrenic himself is too much for Spencer to bear.

So instead, he sends her books of Kempe and Valentine. He knows that it doesn’t replace the fact that he hasn’t seen his mother in years, but it has to count for something.

Spencer thinks about going to New Orleans and finding Ethan, but doesn’t go any farther than a thought process. Of course, that doesn’t stop him from dreaming up the different scenarios if he did see Ethan. Would he be the same? Or maybe happier because he’s finally doing what he’s always wanted to?

Then again, there’s also the chance that Ethan wasn’t able to get a good start in the area, and he could be homeless, busking for money. Spencer choses to believe that’s not the case. He’s probably warm and healthy, living the life he’d dreamed about.

Spencer wonders if he’s got another boyfriend. It’s been years, so the answer’s probably yes. Or maybe even a girlfriend. If he has anything that isn’t Spencer. Part of Spencer wants to be happy that Ethan probably has another significant other, and the other part wants to fall into his arms and beg Ethan to take him back.

Which is a strange thought, because Spencer wasn’t even the one that left. Ethan was the one to break up with him, and Ethan was the one to leave with nothing but a note left on his bunk in Quantico.

That seems to be a theme regarding Spencer. Leaving via notes. But then, two is a coincidence, and three is a pattern. Spencer knows it’s inevitable, so who will be the third one?

Spencer works hard pushing his thoughts to the back of his mind, focusing only on psychology, devouring David Rossi’s fourth book. He attends class after class, lecture after lecture, before ending up on the other side.

One morning he gets a call from a linguist, Alexandra Blake, who had apparently read a few of his papers. Much to Spencer’s surprise, she asks him to lecture with her, up in Massachusetts. Spencer’s first inclination is to decline, to give some excuse, but he ends up accepting.

As it turns out, it’s one of the most memorable things he’s done in academia, save for accepting his first doctorate degree. Doctor Blake is incredibly good at keeping a conversation going, which really shouldn’t surprise Spencer because she’s a linguist, but it still does.

Even when Spencer attempts to make jokes, she’ll chuckle at them, cracking a smile. Although he’s only a novice profiler, Spencer can tell that there’s something there, behind the smile, but he doesn’t know what it is. He wonders if the unspoken inter team profiling rule counts for co-lecturers as well. It’s not exactly something that he can easily ask about.

He ends up lecturing with Doctor Blake three more times, and he’s able to learn a plethora of things in Boston while he’s there. When she leaves, Doctor Blake hugs Spencer, and it doesn’t feel like fire.

She’s the type of person that Spencer doesn’t have to wear layers around, and Spencer knows he’ll be missing her for years.

After a few more months of academia, Spencer calls up Mari.

She answers on the second ring, bringing a smile to Spencer’s face. She sounds happy even over the phone, and they talk for well over an hour about her family. She’s married now, and even as a kid, nearly one years old.

Before Spencer can stop himself, he asks if he can come visit. Luckily, she almost instantly says yes, and in the span of a day, Spencer already has bought a plane ticket and packed his bags.

Mari picks him up in the airport, and Spencer notes that it’s a different car from when they were at CalTech, though that probably shouldn’t surprise him. It’s been a decade since they met, even though it feels like it was just yesterday.

Even with his eidetic memory, that doesn’t happen too often.

The weather is gloomy in Indianapolis, and Spencer uses the easy excuse for the thick jacket he’s wearing.

“This is Tom,” Mari introduces, motioning to a man with thick glasses, “And here’s our son, Marty,” Even though he’s a stranger, both Marty and Tom smile at Spencer.

He awkwardly waves, even though he knows that a handshake should be the appropriate social greeting at a time like this. “Hi,” Spencer replies with a pulled smile. “I’m Doctor Spencer Reid.”

Picking up Marty, Mari slides into a kitchen chair next to him. “Which doctorate did you end up getting?”

“I got three,”

“Oh gosh,” Mari bounces Marty on her knee, and Spencer feels rather uncomfortable when he happily coos. What did Gideon call it? ‘The Reid effect?’

Setting a mug of coffee in front of Spencer, Tom questions, “You went to college really early, didn’t you?”

“Ah, yeah,” Spencer nods. “I was twelve,”

“And you were so tiny!” Mari adds. “Now you’re nearly a foot taller than me, when did that exactly happen?”

Grinning, Spencer answers, “About a year after you left, and I think I’m hitting another growth spurt, even though it’s late.”

Mari chuckles fondly. “So tell me Spencer, you got into the FBI, right?”

“Behavioral Analysis Unit,” He confirms.

“I’ve never heard of that,” Tom chimes in. “What do you do?”

Spencer feels a bit of tension release from his shoulders. These are just facts, something he can handle. “We profile criminals.”

“What is that?”

“We basically get inside of their heads to figure out where and when they’re going to strike next, as well as being able to pick them out of a group of suspects.”

Tom and Mari both smile at him. Through the babbling of Marty, Mari muses, “Wow. I never expected you to work for the FBI, Spencer.”

“Yeah, neither did I,”

Marty starts making noises that sound rather disturbing to Spencer, but Tom just scoops him out of Mari’s lap and tells him, “Let’s go feed you, buddy, and then bed time!” He makes a little airplane zooming noise, and Spencer wonders if this is what real families are supposed to be like.

Mari pulls him out of his thoughts, “Not good with kids?”

Jerking his head back to her, Spencer awkwardly fumbles, “Ah, what?”

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Mari laughs, “Rather than my son.”

“Yeah, I guess I’m not too good with kids. Or animals for that matter,” Spencer scrunches his face, “Actually, I think I’m just not good with living creatures in general.”

“I think you’re doing pretty good so far,” She chuckles. “How’s the FBI treating you?”

Spencer lights up. “Good! It’s really good, in fact.”

Raising her eyebrows, Mari questions, “If it’s so good, what’s with the sabbatical?”

“Oh, uh, my mentor of sorts is on medical leave and I decided to break when he did, finish a few degrees.”

“Is that so?”

With a look, Spencer muses, “Are you going full ‘therapist’ on me? Don’t go all ‘therapist’ on me. It’s creepy,”

Laughing, Mari claims, “I can’t help it. Are you going to go back?”

“To what, the FBI?”

“Mmhm,”

“Eventually, yes. I’ll probably wait until Gideon goes back, though.”

“Why’s that?”

Spencer sighs. “Mari, I just told you to not go all ‘therapist’ on me,” He can’t help crack a smile though. Mari’s always been a ‘get to the point’ sort of girl, and he’s happy to learn that hasn’t changed in a decade.

“Alright, alright,” She smiles. “New topic. You told me about Ethan a while back, how’s he?”

“Living in New Orleans,” Spencer cryptically answers.

Mari gives a sympathetic wince toward him. “He broke up with you?”

“How do you know I didn’t break up with him?”

“Call it a hunch,” She grins.

Feeling rather naked, Spencer unconsciously puts his hands under his armpits. “Maybe you should be a profiler,”

“Oh gosh no,” Mari laughs. “I am just fine learning about the problems of random people, I don’t think I could handle serial killers,”

“I bet you’d be good at it,” Spence confesses.

The conversation comes to a lull, and Spencer feels exposed, like he’s under a microscope. It’s the same feeling he gets when there are too many eyes on him, and Spencer wishes that he were wearing more clothes, even on top of his jacket.

Luckily, Mari’s able to pick up the conversation once more. “I was just thinking the other day, about how crazy it was that I met you,”

“What do you mean?”

Looking to the side, Mari explains, “I met a child prodigy, a literal genius, without even realizing how one of a kind you are. It took me just under a decade to realize that.”

Spencer doesn’t exactly know how to react to that, so he just awkwardly supplies, “I have proof that I’m a, quote in quote, genius now.”

“What do you mean?”

“I took an IQ test,” Spencer easily answers.

“And?”

“One hundred and eighty seven.”

“Holy shit!” Mari exclaims, before nervously looking behind her to make sure that her son didn’t hear any such words. Quieter, she adds, “A hundred and eighty seven? Spencer do you even know how- that’s insane!”

Swallowing, Spencer admits, “I am aware that I’m a statistical outlier. My guess is that something had to have gone wrong, otherwise there’s nothing to explain why I got such an irregular result,”

“Don’t do that,” Mari sighs.

“Do what?”

“Sell yourself short. You know, there’s a word for people who believe that they don’t deserve the things and titles they’ve earned-”

“Oh, not this,”

“Imposter syndrome.” Mari finishes, and Spencer has to stop himself from letting his forehead fall into his hands.

With a groan, Spencer mutters, “Please no more therapist things,”

Putting up her hands as if to surrender, Mari replies, “I’m just saying, it sure sounds like imposter syndrome.” She smiles when Spencer rolls his eyes. “Anyway,” Mari continues, “I’m just really glad that I met you, and I only recently realized how incredibly lucky I got.”

Spencer furrows his brow. “Lucky for meeting me?”

“Of course. You’re one of a kind, Spencer.”

He stays silent, musing on that fact for a few moments, before settling with a nod.

Although it’s later offered, Spencer doesn’t stay the night in Mari and Tom’s guest room, and instead sleeps in a hotel, just like if he were on a case with the BAU. If there’s one thing that the BAU has taught him, it’s how to get the most out of hotels.

And how absolutely scratchy the blankets are.

He goes back to lectures and classes the next day, but part of his thoughts are still on Mari and Tom. Although the timing makes sense, it still feels weird for Spencer’s first friend to be married, to have a kid.

Spencer understands that he’s younger, but it’s strange to him that he doesn’t exactly have any sort of family going on. He had Ethan for a while, but that’s not exactly the case at the moment.

And while he’s still selfishly avoiding his mom, all he really has is the BAU. His only family is a group of profilers whom he only sees when they’re working.

Spencer doesn’t even pretend that it isn’t sad.

For not the first time since he left, Spencer is half tempted to find Ethan, but he knows that they’ll never be the same. Ethan made his choice. He left Spencer, and Spencer needs to respect that. So the young doctor stays inside his small apartment, sticking a stamp on a letter addressed to Bennington Sanitarium.

The only part of his dysfunctional family that will acknowledge his presence.

That night, Spencer pulls the blankets up to his ears, and then over his head. Even after the alarm goes off, and even after the shine begins to shine through the window, Spencer stays in his little cocoon of safety. 

He feels extra fragile today, and the only way he knows how to combat it is to put up extra armor and extra shields. It’s not very chilly, but Spencer puts on a long sleeved button-up, and then a sweater, and then a jacket on top. He wears the thickest pair of corduroy pants he owns, and then Spencer puts two pairs of socks on, all four mismatched from each other.

His toes scrunch a little more in his shoes, and he can already feel himself sweating, but it’s definitely worth it. To tie it all together, Spencer wraps Ethan’s purple scarf around his neck so that it goes all of the way up to his chin, and now he’s finally safe.

When Gideon calls him, Spencer pretends to believe that it’s just a coincidence. That the first time in nearly a year his mentor calls him is the day he chooses to finally indulge in his wicked coping mechanisms.

Just a coincidence.

Right?

But Spencer doesn’t have time to muse on that fact, because suddenly Gideon’s telling him that he’s coming back to the BAU because of a particular case, and Spencer is needed.

He commits to memory the way Gideon tells him he’s needed as Spencer rides the subway, holding onto one of the metal bars through his shirt. He’s a bit of a germaphobe, which is concerning, because until today, that’s never seemed to bother him.

However, he pushes that thought from his head as he meets up with Gideon in Quantico.

“Lose the scarf, kid,”

“What?”

Sighing, Gideon points out, “You look like a little kid, Reid, and the scarf doesn’t help that. There’s two new members on the team, and you want them to take you seriously, right?”

Spencer feels his heart stutter, “There’s two new people?”

That’s going to change everything! The way the caseload is divided, the way that they’ll sit around the round table, everything’s going to be different, and Spencer hasn’t prepared for this. He’s far too grateful that he’s decided to wear extra layers today.

“Here, give me the scarf,” Gideon requests, holding his hand out, “I’ll put it in my car. Then maybe they won’t realize the amount of layers you’re wearing.” Gideon finishes, far quieter than the first part.

Spencer instinctively looks down. Has Gideon known all this time? Why hasn’t he done anything about it? Or maybe Spencer’s just overreacting.

Whatever the case may be, Spencer doesn’t have time to think about it while there’s a serial killer that needs to be caught. Striding behind Gideon as he walks into the bullpen, Spencer forces to keep his head up, proving that he does, infact, belong here.

Keeping his hand on the door, Gideon questions, “You ready to get back in here, kid?”

After Gideon’s comment about the layers he wears, Spencer doesn’t feel like pulling any punches. “I could ask the same thing about you, sir.”

Gideon huffs, taking it in stride. “Elle’s gonna love you,”

Spencer looks up at Gideon, making a face pulled in confusion. “Who’s Elle?”

Rather than answer, Gideon yanks open the bullpen doors, a hasty greeting of, “I’ve got Doctor Reid. Now, we can start solving this case.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a really hard time breaking Spencer and Ethan up, I won't lie. I knew it was going to happen, but it still hurt :( There will be a bit more Ethan, because of season two, but otherwise he's basically done, which is honestly really sad for me. Which brings up a question: 
> 
> We all know that Spencer is gay as fuck, and all Luke does is give him heart eyes, so would any of you want a bit of Luke/Spencer in the later chapters? It wouldn't happen any time soon, but I'm curious on your guys' thoughts about it haha.
> 
> Question #2: Do you want Spencer to talk to Mari in like three or four chapters, or no?
> 
> I really need to stop making my a/n so long, so I'm going to cut myself off here lmao. Thank you so much for everyone who kudos and comments, it brings a dorky smile to my face, and I honestly can't thank you enough <3


	4. It's Definitely Going Downhill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spencer's trauma piles up, one after another, with no break in between.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! This chapter is all of Spencer's canon trauma, which, wow, is a lot. Chapter five will start to be my plot again, and will include stuff from Ashes.  
> TW for mentioned sexual assault, but nothing, nothing, is explicit.
> 
> Please enjoy! :D

Despite Spencer’s fears, the new people on the team make things easier. 

Elle is as sharp witted as he expected, and JJ. Well. JJ is something else entirely. Spencer thinks he’s developing a crush, but he’s not really sure.

Other than his strange admiration with Alexa Lisbon, Spencer’s never had a crush before. What he had with Ethan was different. It felt like love and admiration, not something silly enough to be categorized as a crush.

Spencer thinks that he enjoys JJ and her company, but he doesn’t feel the same about her as he did with Ethan. Did, does, once did? He doesn’t even know if he still has feelings for the man that left him to go follow his dreams.

However, Gideon seems to notice Spencer’s strange feelings for JJ, and gives him an extra push in the right direction, handing him tickets to watch a sport that Spencer’s never seen. JJ brings Garcia with them, and when Spencer sees her bright smile, he knows that the only thing he wants to be is her best friend.

On a surprisingly smiliar scale, Spencer’s getting more comfortable with Morgan of all people, which isn’t something he ever expected to happen. Instead of becoming a bully, he becomes a brother to Spencer. Morgan continues to poke fun, give him little slaps on the shoulder, and for a while, Spencer isn’t sure what to think.

Now though, he’s made peace with the fact that he actually has a friend. A genuine, bona fide friend, just for Spencer. There’s no time counting down like there was with Mari and graduation, and Spencer finally allows himself to get comfortable.

The team treats Spencer better than he had been his entire life, and soon enough he’s walking into work with only two layers of clothes on his back. His colorful socks turn into one layer, and his shoes are low cut to the point where his ankles aren’t covered. He’s still anxious beyond belief, that’s not something that changes with his clothes, but at least something is improving.

Really, he shouldn’t be surprised when the world takes its revenge on Spencer.

Phillip Dowd pulls out a rifle with a devilish smile, and Spencer knows he’s going to put on a jacket when he gets home. Hotch kicks him like the bullies he’d gotten so used to living with, and even though Spencer knows it was all a plan, it still hurts.

And then Spencer shoots and kills a man. A little dot on his forehead, a punctuation to end the sentence he never got to finish. The worst part of it all, is that Spencer is congratulated for it. He gets smiles and pride from his companions for killing a human being.

His life feels so backwards, and Spencer doesn’t know what to do.

So he does the only thing that’ll keep him safe- he drags the blankets over his head and sits in the darkness underneath the covers. The dark bothers him, sure, but it’s no rival for the safety he feels when his entire body is covered. 

That night, Spencer doesn’t shower, doesn’t even take off his clothes, because the idea of existing without his armor is nearly enough to send him into a panic. He takes off his shoes and replaces it with another pair of socks, but he keeps his shirt and sweater on, even after pulling on his CalTech sweatshirt.

Safety isn't just something that he  _ can  _ achieve, it's something that he  _ has  _ achieved.

The nightmares start and his sweaters are worn day after day, and no one really notices, which both calms Spencer and makes him worse. Morgan questions him about his heavy clothes and then Spencer tells him about his dreams.

And then in turn, Hotch and Gideon learn about the nightmares, and Spencer feels like he’s slowly spiralling away, barely in charge of his own life. He writes letters to his mom, he calls Mari, but nothing is really giving him the same safe feeling as clothes do.

Spencer voluntarily goes on a train with a paranoid schizophrenic that probably has a few other delusional disorders to wrap it all up in a nice little bow. He puts a knife to a man’s skin, and it feels wrong, wrong, it feels so wrong drawing blood on another human being.

But then he gets what he deserves when a gun is pointed directly at his chest, just a few feet away. Spencer not only wishes that he still had his bulletproof vest, but also another shirt on, even though he knows that won’t help when there’s a piece of metal going 2,600 feet per second into his soft flesh.

Against all odds, he and Elle make it out alive.

When Spencer goes to work the next day with a jacket that hangs over his hands, Gideon doesn’t look surprised. Disappointed, sure, but not surprised. Spencer wonders how predictable he’s gotten over the years.

Apparently quite predictable, because Hotch brings him into his office one day, giving him a card to a psychologist. Spencer wants to be offended, he really does, but he would’ve done the same thing to himself if he were in Hotch’s position.

A woman with a stern smile and seven different rings on her fingers tries to diagnose Spencer with a plethora of mental disorders, and Spencer’s not exactly surprised. He knows that there’s something that isn’t right in his brain, but he doesn’t appreciate it being pointed out by a professional. He’d much prefer Mari’s questioning than this.

Spencer goes back once more, and he leaves with a prescription for Prozac, which he begrudgingly picks up at the pharmacy on the way home. That night, Spencer burrows under his new weighted blanket and pretends that nothing is wrong with his head.

Somehow, the Prozac begins to help, and the two layers become the one and a half of his sweater vest and button-up. His socks are reduced to one mismatched pair instead of two, and Spencer wonders if this is what it’s like to be a neurotypical.

The whole team learns about his schizophrenic mother in the blink of an eye, and Spencer nearly leaves the meeting so he can go back home and put on more clothes. The last time he was this exposed was when the football team searched his skin with their snake eyes. Spencer promised himself that this wouldn’t happen ever again, but here he was, on display.

He gets blown up, which is something he’d like to never repeat, but it isn’t bad enough to be hospitalized. Maybe it’s from the concussion and smoke inhalation, but Spencer finally sits down and talks to his mom.

The dreaded conversation turns out to be a lovely memory of Spencer’s childhood. Guilt of not talking with his mother for seven years comes full force, and the self hatred he feels is enough to drown in. The worst part of it all is that Diana doesn’t hold it against him.

Spencer thinks it would be easier if Diana was angry at him, but she isn’t. Somehow, she’s the levelheaded one, and just kisses Spencer’s forehead and says that she could never be angry at Spencer.

He goes back to his apartment happy, but he should’ve known that it would never stay.

Elle leaves, and Spencer isn’t angry at her, but at the world and himself. It’s obvious that everyone in his life will leave him, no matter what he does, and Spencer hates it. Hotch and Morgan try to talk to Spencer, try to make him feel better, but ultimately it’s Garcia that fixes his battered heart.

She’s the one that gives Spencer toys to stim with, and she’s the one that doesn’t talk about the obvious unless Spencer wants to. Garcia’s content to simply talk about what’s on her mind, which usually ends up being Doctor Who.

It happens suddenly. Suddenly Spencer is comfortable with the woman with bright lights and brighter smiles, and he doesn’t know when it happened. But he can handle wearing one pair of socks around her, and he doesn’t even have to put on a jacket over his sweater when he’s just talking with Garcia.

Spencer has a hunch that she’s not as neurotypical as the rest of the team thinks she is. Everyone else thinks she just has her quirks, but Spencer’s spent enough time around her to know that she’s more alike Spencer than the rest of the team thinks.

However, there’s one big difference between the two of them, and it’s only two words.

Self-esteem.

Spencer thinks about trying to love himself, he really does, but everything begins to go wrong again. There’s something suspicious about the new member in the BAU, Emily Prentiss, but they don’t have time to delve into that when Morgan’s accused of murder.

When Spencer learns of Morgan’s past, he doesn’t know what to think. He doesn’t understand how Morgan can still walk around, can still wear short sleeves, after what Buford did to him. And why can’t Spencer do the same?

For over a week straight it plagues Spencer that he isn’t able to be so carefree like Morgan is. Nothing that bad ever happened to Spencer, but he still can’t handle wearing summer clothes and short sleeves.

Morgan went through metaphorical Hell, yet Spencer’s the one that shakes underneath the stares of his peers, and it’s Spencer who cannot fathom the touch of another human being.

And then.

And.

Then.

A broken man with a broken mind tries to show Spencer how broken he really is, and Spencer can’t help but feel that in a different timeline he would share the fractured mind of Tobias Hankel.

His shoes are taken off and that alone nearly sends Spencer into a panic attack. And then Charles rips off one of his socks and then Spencer does panic. No one’s seen this much of Spencer’s skin for as long as he can remember, and he can’t bear the thought that it’s a serial killer that sees him first.

Spencer begs and begs, and cries when Charles grabs his ankle. The beating, the breaking of tiny metatarsal bones, none of it hurts as much as Charles’ hands do.

Out of all of the personalities, Raphael is the easiest for Spencer to handle. 

Raphael tells Spencer that he’s a sinner, which is the truth. He tells Spencer that he needs to pay for his sins, which is also true. Sure, Raphael holds a loaded revolver up to Spencer’s head and has killed countless people, but everything he says to Spencer is real.

But see, Raphael is Spencer’s favorite personality because Raphael doesn’t touch him while he’s in the cabin. He threatens his friends, his family, but he never ends up touching Spencer.

Charles touches his feet and Tobias touches his arm, but Raphael doesn’t set a single finger on Spencer’s fragile skin, his fragile insides.

Spencer Reid isn’t fragile because he’s developing a heroin addiction in a cabin in a cemetery, no, Spencer Reid is fragile because his armor was torn off, even after he promised himself at twelve years old that it would never, ever, happen again.

He falls into the arms of Hotch and pretends that he doesn’t care that people have to touch him to save him. The fragile skin of his foot touches every single thing on the ground of the cemetery, but it’s no match for Hotch and Gideon trying to keep him up by touching his arms.

“Reid, Spencer, I need you to look at me,”

Through a broken blink, Spencer looks up to see Hotch’s worried face. “Please, no,”

“You’re okay, we’re here. You’re okay now.”

Spencer lets his eyes slip close, “Don’ touch me, please,” Spencer begs, letting his knees buckle, body collapsing into the dirt he nearly died in.

“Reid!”

Hands do nothing but touch, touch, touch, touch, and Spencer hates it. He doesn’t have any energy to stop it from happening, and he barely has enough energy to have a panic attack about it.

He promised himself, he promised that it wouldn’t happen, ever again. That Spencer wouldn’t ever have to face the world without his armor, but here is, armorless.

The world becomes a blur of panicking and sedatives, and Spencer can’t find it in himself to stop the vicious cycle.

When he wakes up, the first thing Spencer requests is a pair of socks. Ten minutes later, Spencer’s covered head to toe in clothes, and none of the members of the BAU have the heart to question him about it.

Spencer loses time, and the days become shorter because of it. He slips needle after needle in the fragile skin of his elbow and gets high. He becomes a junkie, but it’s fine, everything is fine, because he’s wearing clothes again.

Spencer swears that he’ll never wear less than two pairs of socks, even in the summer. He makes a promise to himself that he’ll start protecting himself, because no one else is able to.

Just him and a vial of Dilaudid, making their way through the wicked world.

It’s only natural that Ethan’s the first one to bring up his addiction.

When he goes to the bar, Spencer thinks of all of the questions he’s wanted to ask Ethan since Quantico, all of his thoughts that never got answers for. Spencer wonders if Ethan ever thought the same, if Ethan ever thought of Spencer.

Spencer wants to ask him the same question he wants to ask everyone who leaves. ‘Why?’ Why does everyone leave? What is it about Spencer that inspires people to abandon him, just as he’s learning to trust?

There’s far too many questions that he wants to ask Ethan, but as soon as he sees the person he once loved, Spencer’s mind goes blank.

“Spence,”

“Hi, Ethan.” Spencer wants to feel angry, but he’s still on the tail end of his high, so instead he gives a lethargic sigh.

Ethan’s quiet for a few moments. “I’m sorry I left,”

“Me too.”

“What’s happened to you?” Ethan questions, sitting him down in an armchair.

Spencer doesn’t know if it’s rhetorical, and he’s too tired to figure it out. “I got kidnapped by a serial killer who beat and drugged me for two straight days.”

Sucking in a breath, Ethan murmurs, “Spence…” He looks into Spencer’s eyes, and keeps the contact even when the younger man looks away.

“You were right,”

“About what?”

Spencer cracks a broken smile, “That the FBI was too dangerous for me.”

“Are you going to quit?”

“Working there is the only thing I know how to do.”

They’re both quiet for a long few seconds. Ethan ends up being the one to break it, “You’re on drugs. When did that happen?”

“Just now,” Spencer blinks. 

“Spence,” Ethan starts, “You gotta get clean, I mean, what about your mom?”

While letting his head fall into his hands, Spencer quietly confesses, “It’s okay if I have a schizophrenic break, Ethan. I’m okay with it,”

“No, you’re not.” Comes the stern reply. “You’re still the same person who would hide under the covers because of this fear- there’s no way it just went away!”

“The covers never helped!” 

“What are you talking about?”

Spencer swallows. “I cover myself, head to toe, but it never protected me. It was supposed to protect me. It was supposed to protect me, Ethan!”

“Jesus Christ,”

“It didn’t work. My armor didn’t work.”

Although to be fair to his armor, nothing else worked either. No matter what he did, Spencer still fell through the holes of his mind, and still lost his humanity to a man who was abused as a child. 

He doesn’t want it to end this way.

Spencer’s not even sure that it’s a coherent thought- after all, who knows when he’s high or when he’s coming down or even the last time he shot up. Everything is a blur. Everything, except that one thought.

Spencer doesn’t want his life to end this way.

He takes a week off of work, and when he comes back, Spencer’s wearing a long sleeve shirt under a sweater under a jacket, two layers of pants and three pairs of socks, but he’s finally real once again.

Like the previous week, Spencer sweats the entire day, and he feels like he’s dying, but he’s safe. Spencer’s finally safe, safe, safe.

But this still isn’t enough.

Not a week later, Spencer goes through all of his clothes, throwing out anything too thin or short sleeved, all of his shorts, pajama bottoms or otherwise. If the socks don’t go up to his knees, they find a home in the apartment complex dumpster.

After a weekend of going through his wardrobe, Spencer feels marginally safer. He buys more jackets and more pants, tossing out his sweater vests because those just aren’t doing it for him anymore. Only sweaters with sleeves seem to keep Spencer safe.

He knows that the team is aware of his drug problem, at least in one form or another, but none of them bring it up. None of them are surprised when Spencer begins to exclusively wear long sleeves, but it’s not for the reason that they believe. 

Sure, it helps that long sleeves happen to hide the scars of track marks, but the real reason Spencer does it is because it protects his skin. From a physical standpoint, it protects his skin from exposure, but from an emotional standpoint, it keeps Spencer sane. The excuse of track marks are just to trick his own brain.

One the last day he experiences symptoms from withdrawal, Spencer looks at his arms, committing the sight to memory. He stares down at the crooks of his elbows, thinking about all of the times that he lived in a pure high. When Spencer closes his eyes, he rolls down his sleeves and promises himself to never look at them again.

His skin is evidence of personal failures, evidence of disappointment all around, and he doesn’t want to see it. Most importantly, Spencer knows that nobody else wants to see it either. For as long as he keeps it hidden, they can all collectively agree to ignore the fact that Spencer was a drug addict.

Slowly but surely, the time in Spencer’s brain comes back, and Spencer thinks that he’s just barely narrowly avoided jumpstarting a schizophrenic break. His perfect visual recall appears once again, and the days start being twenty-four hours long, just like they’re supposed to be. If he were any more naive, he’d say that life is going back to normal.

But it certainly isn’t normal that he can’t look at his body in the shower, and it’s certainly not normal that he wears layers in 90 degree heat. Spencer knows it’s not normal to want to shower with a sweater on, but he can’t help the thought from existing.

If Spencer could have it his way, his body would never, ever, be on display for the cruel world to tear apart. 

He continues wearing a minimum of two layers, only allowing himself to strip himself of a layer if it’s above a certain temperature. He knows what kind of thinking that will do, how fast it’ll spiral into raising the temperature degree by degree until he won’t let himself take off a layer until he’s in the sun itself, but Spencer doesn’t stop.

It’s his own personal security blanket when he can’t literally hide underneath blankets.

His fear of the dark becomes the opposite- the fear of his body being illuminated. Suddenly the darkness is the wonderful, joyous thing to hide his body from the world’s stares and ridicules. While he’s hiding under the covers, the dark space around him is a comfort.

Everything is going just fine.

It’s not going just fine.

But it is. Spencer refuses to believe that it’s not going fine. He’s dealing with it all, he’s coping. So what if he threw out his Prozac because the thought of taking any medicine sickens him, so what if he has panic attacks if he sees his own skin other than his hands- he’s fine. Mirrors start to be the bane of his existence, but. It’s. Fine.

Once is random, twice is a coincidence, and three times is a pattern. Spencer had been waiting for the third time the instant Ethan left. The only problem is, he was never expecting it to be Gideon, the first adult to pay attention to him, to care about him.

There’s something about Spencer, there has to be, that everyone seems to get tired of after a certain amount of time, causing them to leave. Spencer wishes he knew what it was so he could fix it, but in the meantime, he just keeps his skin covered. No one can see the real him if he just hides it away, right?

He’d gotten away with wearing long sleeves and layers for every waking moment since Hankel, until one stupid move. The one thing that causes his defenses to crumble down is walking into a house with an air conditioner on full blast.

Spencer doesn’t know if it’s psychosomatic or not, but he swears he can feel the powder making a home in his lungs and traveling through his blood stream. Morgan’s shouting at him, and soon Hotch is shouting at him, and Spencer wants to rip off his shirt because he feels really hot all of a sudden, but he won’t.

Dr. Kimura asks if she can do something to make him more comfortable, but all Spencer wants to do is hide his head in his face. He’s getting dizzier and dizzier, and when he breathes his lungs scream at him, but that’s not what Spencer’s afraid of.

He’s afraid of what’s going to happen after he leaves the room, so Spencer refuses. He tells Hotch and Morgan that he’ll be more useful in here, because Spencer knows the second he leaves he’ll be decontaminated, clothless. Armorless. 

It’s only when his vision threatens to gray out that he’s finally convinced to leave the dreaded study. Morgan’s watching him with worried eyes as he gets hosed down, and Spencer can feel a panic attack coming on, so he tells his best friend, his brother, a silly little joke.

This could be the last time Morgan sees Spencer, they both know that, but Spencer would do anything to ensure the fact that no one will see him with his armor down.

When they start to cut off his clothes, Spencer forces himself to focus on a nice little spot in the corner of the tent, praying that he can get himself to dissociate fast enough. He hasn’t taken Prozac in years, so it’s not too bad.

Hands continue to touch his body and Spencer tries his very hardest to stay inside of his head, ignoring the world around him. He can’t help but curl into his body, shaking when hands force him back out. 

Spencer doesn’t hate the fact that he’s dying, but he does hate the fact that he’s going to die completely defenseless. Just like with Hankel. Once again, Spencer promised himself that he’s never going to let his armor down, and once again, he’s broken his own promise.

When Spencer finally passes out, he welcomes it.

The second he wakes, Spencer shoves his hands underneath the covers, weary of his IV. He tells Morgan something about being cold, and they give him another blanket. He continues to lie, something about body temperature, and JJ stops by with one of his sweatshirts.

The cuffs hang down to the first knuckle of his thumb, and Spencer finally feels like he can breathe, even though the anthrax had been cleared from his lungs hours ago.

When he’s finally allowed to go home, someone offers to stay with Spencer, but he fervently refuses, giving some god awful excuse. It’s a miracle none of them said anything about it, because based on their looks they knew that something was up.

Spencer pushes his blackout curtains closed, creating a darkness that he would’ve had nightmares about as a child. When he takes a shower, he leaves the bathroom light off, because he can’t stand to see the sight of his fragile skin.

He wears two layers of pajamas, hides under four different blankets pulled up to his ears, and Spencer’s never slept better.

On one lonely night, Spencer thinks about Mari. He thinks about the first time they went shopping together, and he thinks about blue jackets with sleeves that were a little too long, and Spencer wonders if that’s where it went wrong.

But that’s not quite right, is it? The first time things went wrong could’ve been when a bunch of seventeen year olds sexually assaulted Spencer and tied him to a goal post, or things could’ve even started going wrong since his dad left. The more he thinks about it, the more Spencer believes that his life is just trauma waiting to happen.

Before he can stop himself, Spencer finds his cellphone and punches in the number for Mari. It’s been well over a year since they’ve talked, and Spencer didn’t realize he missed it until now.

The voice that answers isn’t Mari. It’s an old woman who had probably smoked at some point in her life, who reports that no, she does not know a Mari. She’s kind about it, but Spencer quickly hangs up, feeling the air around him beginning to suffocate him, just like when he was back in a room full of anthrax.

Mari’s left too, now. She’s gotten a new number and never told Spencer, successfully removing him from her life.

So Spencer does what he does best: wrap himself in clothes and hide under the blankets, pretending that he’s just fine.

The team is worried about him, Spencer can tell, but none of them are sure of what they should be worried about. Spencer himself is reason to worry, but nobody knows where to start, and he uses that to his advantage.

Every year, on the anniversary of Tobias Hankel’s death, Spencer allows himself to look at his body, frail and sickly, in the mirror. Spencer checks the old track marks and pokes his sides, wondering when all of his ribs began to be visible.

He’s damned eidetic memory commits his body to a perfect memory, and Spencer knows that it’ll never leave his head. That’s why he has to hide from everyone else. He can’t bear the thought that someone else could see him so fragile.

This year is different though. Because this year, the track marks look different. At first, Spencer can’t place exactly what the lack of similarity is, but eventually he realizes that the scars are more pale than they usually are. They’re whiter, and the shadows beneath them are a little bit smaller too.

Against all odds, the track marks are going away.

Spencer puts on a sweater and refuses to think about it. Without getting tangled up, Spencer maneuvers a shirt underneath the sweater, and then tosses a jacket on top of it. He doesn’t want to see his arms, and he wishes he never looked.

The next hospital visit is far too soon in Spencer’s opinion. He’s shot in the knee in a white picket fence front yard, and all he feels is searing pain. But the only thing he thinks about is the fact that the bullet has ripped a hole through his pants, revealing a patch of white skin.

He’s almost happy when the blood continues to pool, creating cascading rivers around the wound, because it blocks out the world. Blood isn’t a very good layer between his body and the life around him, but it’s better than nothing.

Although Spencer is genuinely worried about Hotch, he’s all too grateful for the excuse to shoo his teammates away from him, even at one of his weakest moments. He rides in the ambulance alone, and pales when the paramedics cut off pieces of his pants.

When they sedate Spencer at the hospital, it’s a relief. He doesn’t want to be conscious if people are looking at his body, into his soul. Worse than that, it’s surgery. Surgery where they ignore the only lasting layer of skin between the world and his fragile insides.

Spencer wakes up in a panic, and he’s glad when a nurse calms him down rather than his friends.

Everyone else in the BAU stays with Hotch, even as his family is forced into witsec, and all Spencer feels is relief. Relief that none of them see him in a hospital gown where his arms and legs don’t have any coverings, relief that nobody but strangers will see him in his most fragile state since Hankel.

He has a new way to layer his clothes now, or at least a new way for the bottom half of his body. Spencer buys a cheap, thin pair of stretchy pants that become the first layer, and then the horrid knee brace, and then his normal pants on top. It isn’t very comfortable, far from it, but it keeps Spencer safe, so that’s all that really matters.

The team continues to worry.

Hotch pulls him into his office on one rainy day, and Spencer spins a high tale that Hotch clearly doesn’t want any part of. For the entire time, his eyes stay on Spencer, and it feels like he’s getting dissected. He hates it with a fiery passion.

Over the next month, Hotch and Rossi conspire to get him to talk, which does nothing but make Spencer feel worse. Logically, he knows that they’re trying to help, but the thought of spilling his secret, his life, is enough to scare him into silence.

When the headaches begin, Spencer continues to keep himself layered. He drinks water, pretending that the headaches are just from dehydration, and tells himself that he’s doing just fine, and absolutely nothing is wrong. 

He grows his hair out so he can cover his neck when it isn’t appropriate to wear Ethan’s purple scarf, and begins wearing his sunglasses nearly every day. Yes, they help with his light sensitivity, but they’re a socially appropriate way to cover his face.

Ideally, Spencer would wrap a sweatshirt around his head and walk around blind, but he knows that he wouldn’t be able to get away with that for very long before he joined his mom in Bennington. Then again, at the rate his headaches are going, Spencer’s half sure that he’ll be heading there anyway.

Although the want to cover his face continues, the headaches do not. He meets the voice of Maeve Donovan, who Spencer ends up talking to more than he planned. Spencer tells her too much, and when he can’t take it back, he continues to speak.

Somehow, she helps. Spencer isn’t sure if it’s her voice, kind words, or maybe it’s the fact that being able to speak with someone without them seeing his body is the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

When he sits alone in his apartment, Spencer’s able to stomach wearing a single sweater. It’s long, going down to his fingertips, but it’s only one layer. When he goes to the BAU, Spencer begins to manage only two layers on top. The feeling is rather foreign, but Spencer’s determined to make it work.

And then a wicked woman with a wicked smile touches Spencer when he’s completely weak, in front of the girl he loves as much as he loved Ethan. Diane touches his face, skin to skin, and the only reason Spencer doesn’t scream right then is because Maeve’s life depends on it.

Diane kisses Spencer, and at that point, he can’t handle it anymore. He flinches away from her touch, and he feels his breathing pick up far too much for Spencer to lie and say it’s from arousal. She touches his cheek on last time,

And then Maeve dies.

Any progress he could’ve been making is instantly dissipated, and Spencer can’t even handle the idea of anyone seeing him.

He holes up in his apartment, half from grief, and half from disgust of himself.

On a Tuesday morning, all wrapped up, Spencer throws out every single mirror in his apartment. He can’t handle any part of himself, and for an entire day, Spencer wears gloves, just so he doesn’t have to see his own hands.

By the time he’s done with the mirrors, even the reflection from the stove and microwave seem to make fun of him. It takes all of his willpower to not slam his fist into the glass panels, if only to remove his face from them.

Spencer stays in a robe that drapes across his entire body, and burrows underneath a pile of blankets, doing anything and everything in his power to just stay away from the damned world. He hates it.

He hates everything.

Spencer takes a shower with all of his clothes on, because he hates it all.

Everything seems to happen at once: Gideon dying, Morgan leaving, Hotch leaving, it’s all a blur of trauma, and Spencer’s pretty sure that his weak heart can’t take much more.

And to add icing on his dysfunctional cake, his mom gets worse.

The one person in his life, despite her delusional disorder, who Spencer could always rely on, who had never left him. Except she’s not really leaving him, is she? It’s her mind. Diana’s brilliant mind is slowly deteriorating.

Ironically, Diana’s manic schizophrenia had been the only constant in Spencer’s life. Really, he shouldn’t be surprised that it ended.

When Spencer drives across the border he has three layers on, and the last thing he remembers doing is sweating through the air conditioner.

Suddenly there’s a cut on his hand, which is a good excuse to keep gauze covering his skin. If he could, Spencer would cover his entire body in gauze. That’s not too much to ask for, right?

In prison, Spencer’s lucky enough to work in the laundry room. He hoards undershirts like cigarettes in the yard, stashing them underneath his mattress. The guards find one of his contrabands: the journal, but they don’t find the shirts.

After Luis is killed, Spencer considers fashioning a noose out of them, but eventually decides against it. Each day, he steals another undershirt, another jumper, anything. The extra layers make him look slightly more healthy, but it’s not enough to make the prison nurses stop worrying.

People fight him and people touch him in prison, and Spencer forces his own mind to block it out. Each night, he tries his very hardest to get his eidetic memory to fail, attempting to dissociate after each event.

It doesn’t work, and Spencer adds another layer.

He gets out, and learns that he got raped, and another layer is added.

He gets out, and Cat strokes her evil fingers on the side of Spencer’s face. He gets out, and suddenly there's a wicked woman sitting on his lap, and Spencer’s powerless. Cat’s the closest anyone has ever been to Spencer’s feeble body, and he hates it, more than anything.

Her dangerous grins push themselves deep into Spencer's mind, when all he wants is to get them out. Cat’s able to ignore all of Spencer's armor, and pushes straight through like an iron bullet packed tight.

The first thing Spencer does when he gets home is take a shower with all of his layers on. It feels rather disgusting, and his sensitivity to textures makes it all the more hellish, but Spencer would rather have this feeling than seeing his own horrific body.

His button-ups leave his wardrobe, declared too thin to be of useful protection. Spencer buys different shoes, because his converse doesn’t cover enough of his ankle to be sufficient.

Sweaters reaching down to his hips become suit jackets reaching down to his thighs, two different shirts underneath. Casual pants become thicker, and that’s not even counting the inside layer of cheap sweatpants. Two pairs of socks become three, and even that won’t save Spencer from the world biting on his heels.

It’s summer, and Spencer lets his hair grow out to cover his neck, sweat tickling him every time he moves. It’s summer, and Spencer’s aware of the symptoms of heat exhaustion, so he tries to drink more water.

Everyone notices his sudden and strange change of attire, but none of them are really sure of how to bring it up.

Emily sends him looks and so does JJ, but Spencer pretends that nothing is wrong. Rossi brings up better suit jackets that are far lighter than Spencer’s, but he just smiles and tells the older man that he’s happy with what he has. Luke, Matt and Tara all metaphorically attack him at the same time, talking about how they both have their own traumas too. Garcia tries to get him to open up like she did when they were ten years younger, but that doesn’t work either.

Spencer gives them all pained smiles that they wouldn’t have to be profilers to see through, and doesn’t say another word. He works the case like his 187 IQ is supposed to, and never goes out with the team for drinks.

Spencer finally understands what the world has wanted to tell him since his very first memory.

The world is out to get him, just like it always has been, and even though he’s said it twice before, this time, he won’t ever, ever, let his guard back down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> o k a y, so. Basically, I think I might have to change the uploads to be every three days rather than every other day, because I'm getting kinda overwhelmed, and low-key had a break down yesterday when I wasn't able to write enough words. Chapter five will still be posted on the ninth, but I think from then on, it's going to be the 12th, 15th, etc. I'm really sorry if this makes you super disappointed, but I honestly think that this will be better for me, and hopefully make my writing a bit better.
> 
> Also! Despite what you read with Mari, just remember that there's a certain technical analyst with a lot of skills up her sleeve... And I think the general consensus was that you all either wouldn't mind, or would definitely like to see Luke/Spencer, so I'll probably write that in, as soon as I think of a loophole to use bc they work in the same team lol.
> 
> Thank you all so much for your kind words, both on here and on tumblr, it really keeps me inspired! I have no idea what I'd do without you all, I really don't. Much love <3 <3


	5. Don't Touch My Armor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spencer's armor comes crashing down in Texas, of all places.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Hi! I hope everyone's doing well. This chapter includes the events from Ashes. When Spencer's with Luke, the dialogue is taken from Ashes, but is in Spencer's pov, rather than Luke's. When he wakes up, the majority of those lines are from Ashes as well, until Emily leaves the room, and that's all new stuff :D
> 
> Enjoy!! :D

Spencer’s already dressed in two layers in his apartment when Emily sends out a text saying that they’ve got a case.

He puts on an extra layer of clothes around his entire body. A suit jacket over three shirts, a bigger pair of pants over his smaller ones, and an extra pair of socks, even though he hasn’t done enough laundry to wear an extra clean pair.

Even though it’s not too bright in Virginia, Spencer still uses that as an excuse to wear his sunglasses, because he figures that would generally be more accepted than the actual use. Spencer wishes that there were a better way to cover his face that would be appropriate in public, but he’s yet to find one.

Right before Spencer leaves for Quantico, he stuffs a few extra pairs of clothes in. Even with the uncertainty of the case, Spencer knows that nobody else would take this many outfits.

He catches Luke on the way in, awkwardly smiling as he opens the door for Spencer. He can tell Luke wants to ask him something, but Spencer turns away before it can happen. If there’s one thing Spencer can’t deal with today, it’s having unnecessary conversations.

Although he’s not quite non-verbal yet, it’s definitely a slippery slope down.

The case is in Texas, which makes things a trillion times worse for Spencer. Other than the deep South, and possibly Arizona, Texas is the absolute worst place for a case. Spencer’s already sweating in the round table room, and that’s with air conditioning.

Why can’t people go on killing sprees in Alaska?

The jet ride over is painful for Spencer, and he’s already starting to notice some adverse effects to his steadily rising body temperature. In a weak effort to spot his cramping stomach, Spencer drinks a bit of extra water other than coffee, but still doesn’t accept food from JJ.

“Spencer, Luke, you two get caught up with the new crime scene,” Emily starts, letting her files drop down onto the jet table. “Matt and Tara, you two head to the morgue with Rossi, and JJ, you and I will get set up at the precinct when we land. Everyone good with that?”

There’s a few nods and mumbles of confirmation, even from Spencer, who’s looking rather sick.

The crime scene certainly doesn’t help with his pale demeanor. The body of a middle aged man lies by a hot roadside, most of the organs in his abdomen arranged in a sick type of halo around his head.

Spencer croches down to get a better look, committing the gruesome sight to memory. There’s probably something biblical regarding the killing method, but Spencer can’t tell what it is quite yet. With enough research, this is going to be an interesting case for him to solve.

When he stands back up, Spencer feels his knees wobble, and Luke’s suddenly by his side. Before the other man can offer a hand, Spencer quickly puts his hands in front of him, a clear defensive position. “I’m fine,” He adds for extra measure.

Luke continues to talk with CSI, who begins to clean up the scene now that the agents have gotten a first hand look at it. Spencer hears them talking in the background, but he doesn’t have enough energy to actually pay attention to them.

Spencer awkwardly climbs in the SUV, attempting to ignore the stomach cramps which have come back with a vengeance. He absolutely hates the feeling of sweat under his deepest layer, but he’d rather deal with that than take his armor off.

At a red light, Luke turns to look at him. “‘You feeling alright?”

“Fine,” Spencer mutters, even though he’s not fooling anyone.

With little subtlety, Luke turns up the air conditioner in the car, keeping it at its highest setting for the entire way back to the precinct.

Luke frowns when they get inside. “Where are the other Agents?” He asks, turning to one of the local officers.

She takes a moment to remember, before answering, “Finding and talking to witnesses, I believe. I don’t know which ones though,”

“That’s okay,” Luke waves her off. “Hey, Reid, you- whoa,” The profiler watches as Spencer awkwardly stumbles into a chair in the backroom, looking at the maps pinned on the whiteboard with glassy eyes.

Luke sets his files down next to him, before questioning, “Hey, Reid, you okay?”

Jumping out of his mind, Spencer clears his throat and nods.

However, based on Luke’s furrowed brows, he’s not convinced. When he moves a bit closer, Spencer knows that Luke can definitely see the sweat beading across his forehead. “It’s pretty hot in here,” Luke starts, causing Spencer to turn away, “You could take of your jacket-”

The thought of losing his armor spurs his body into motion. “No!”

“Whoa, okay,” Luke soothes, taking a step back. “Is everything okay?” He takes a breath before quietly stating, “I’ve seen my fair share of scars, man. I won’t judge-”

In a perfect world, Spencer would somehow tell Luke that the scars he’s covering aren’t physical, but instead he just awkwardly stutters, “It’s not- It’s not that.” It is, though. Just not in the way that Luke is thinking. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

Spencer’s head jerks up, before quickly looking back to the floor. “What?”

“Are you sure you don’t want to take off one of your layers or something?” Spencer’s very sure. “It’s only going to get warmer,”

The peak of temperature in Texas is usually around three or four PM, based on the month, but Spencer doesn’t mention that to Luke. “I’m honestly fine.” Spencer reports, before forcing himself to focus on the whiteboard in front of him. Although it is rather difficult to do so when the map seems to be swimming.

With a quick shake of his head, Spencer grabs one of the whiteboard markers to circle a cul de sac, before his legs nearly drop under him. Even through the layers, he feels Luke’s hand on his shoulder, and Spencer drops the marker. “Don’t touch me! Please, don’t touch me.” Spencer takes a breath of relief when Luke takes his hand off.

“Okay, I’m sorry, my bad,” Luke sounds rather confused, and Spencer can’t really blame him. “I think you should sit down, though.”

“Why?”

“Reid, you’re really pale,”

It’s been years since Spencer’s looked in a mirror, he can’t even begin to imagine how he must look. “I am?”

“Are you sick?”

Yes, yes, yes, yes one hundred times over, but it’s nothing his antibodies could ever dream of fixing. “I don’t think so,”

Luke isn’t deterred though, and continues his questioning, “Do you have a cough? Or fever or chills? Maybe nausea?”

After finally hearing a symptom that he can relate to, Spencer nods before he can stop himself.

“You’re nauseous?” Luke confirms. After Spencer slowly nods, he continues, “Okay, that’s good. I mean, it’s not good,” The rambles remind Spencer of his own, “But we have more information now. You should probably sit...”

Spencer blinks, trying to listen to Luke, even though he seems to be fading in and out, like the map in front of him. What’s happening? “Alvez…?”

Luke continues talking, but for the life of him, Spencer can’t figure what he’s saying, as if he were talking underwater. With a frown, Spencer tries to tell him so, “...I don’t- what?” Before he can feel his body begin to list to the side.

He’s ready to welcome the floor to his face, but Spencer isn’t welcome to the hands that try to stop it from happening. He’s much rather be touching the dirty floor than someone else. 

Blinking, Spencer can hear Luke muttering to himself, “Shit, shit, okay,” And Spencer feels a bit guilty for making him so worried.

However, that guilt goes away when he realizes that the hands on him are Luke’s. “Please don’t touch me,” Spencer mutters, unsure of how loud he’s actually talking.

There’s more talking and yelling around him, but Spencer isn’t sure what’s being said. In the meantime, he works extra hard to keep his body safe, pulling his limbs in. When Luke looks down at him with worried eyes, Spencer tries to soothe, “‘M okay, Alvez,”

Shaking his head, Luke instructs, “Reid, c’mon, you’ve gotta shed some of these layers, okay?” He could not think of a worse thing to do. “You’re way too warm right now.”

Spencer doesn’t know how to tell Luke that he’s safe like this, that even though he’s sick, he’s safe, and that’s all that matters. “Nooo,”

“Reid, this isn’t a negotiation!” Spencer unconsciously curls further on himself. “I think you have heat exhaustion. We’ve gotta do something about that,”

Heat exhaustion. That makes sense. When the body overheats, the body does several steps in an effort to regulate the temperature once again. The sweat glands work on overdrive, and the blood vessels expand closer to the skin, making it easier for heat to escape, rather than when it’s deeper in his body. 

A second later, Luke’s words finally make sense in Spencer’s brain. “You can’t take my clothes,” He made a promise. He would never let his guard down, and he won’t ever take off his armor again, and Spencer doesn’t plan on breaking that promise like he did before.

“Just a single layer, Reid,” Luke tries to negotiate, even though he just stated that it wasn’t. “You’re wearing a jacket in a Texas summer. C’mon, you’re a genius, you’ve gotta know what’s happening,”

What’s happening is that Spencer isn’t breaking his promise. Nobody’s going to be able to reach his body with their wicked hands and broken grins. “Jus’ don’t touch me,”

Luckily, Luke seems to finally understand, and Spencer’s relieved when he doesn’t attempt to take his jacket off. At some point a plastic water bottle is placed near his head, but Spencer honestly isn’t feeling that thirsty anymore.

There’s a flurry of activity around him, and suddenly the wicked hands are back. They reach out for him, and Spencer’s grateful he’s still wearing his armor.

Until the hands begin to tear off his armor.

Spencer knows what’s going to happen. Once he’s weak, they’ll torture his mind and body, punishing him while he’s completely defenseless. He made a promise to himself, so he has to at least try to fight back, to save his armor. “Please, please, don’t touch me,” He knows he’s begging, but Spencer doesn’t care.

He can’t handle this, he just wants everyone to leave. Spencer wants to find a spot underneath his weighted blanket with the covers pulled past his head, but instead, someone gets his suit jacket off his shoulder.

“Please,” Spencer continues to beg. “Please, please, don’ touch me,” He feels a sob rip form his throat, and Spencer’s powerless to stop it. “No, no, please,” One of the evil hands works on another layer, Spencer knows that he’s failed to keep his only promise to himself.

Weakly thrashing, Spencer understands that this is where he’s going to die.

He feels the familiar poke of Tobias’ needle. Just as he suspected, as soon as his armor is torn off, he becomes weak to the world around him. “Please, I’m not a sinner. ‘M not a- not a sinner,” He mumbles, before what must be a mix of dilaudid and psychedelics enters his bloodstream.

For once in his life, Spencer doesn’t dream about armor.

The first thing Spencer notices when he’s awake is how  _ light _ he feels. 

After spending nearly an entire decade draped in heavy clothes all day, every day, he feels naked without them. Even the few times that Spencer showers without clothes on, he quickly tosses on the closest thing without waiting for his body to dry off.

But right now? His fragile insides are fully exposed.

Someone has torn off all of his armor and replaced it with a wet paper bag.

Out of nothing but instinct, Spencer pulls the far too thin blanket up over his arms up to his chin, maneuvering around the IV on his left side to do so. It’s only then, when he notices he isn’t alone.

Like a cartoon, Spencer feels like he jumps a foot in the air when he sees Emily’s black hair framing her angry face. He pulls the sheet up further.

Emily locks eyes with him until Spencer loses the battle and looks away only a few moments later. She stays quiet for nearly a full minute, which does nothing but put Spencer on edge. That is, even more than he already is.

After a beat, she angrily barks out, “What the  _ fuck  _ was that, Spencer?”

Playing coy, Spencer tries, “What was what?”

“You were wearing three layers,” Emiliy continues without missing a beat. “In summer. In Texas. What the hell were you thinking?” Before Spencer can even think of a response, Emily asks, “How long has this been going on?”

Spencer swallows, finding a spot on the wall to focus on, before quietly answering, “I’ve always felt safer in long clothes.”

“‘Long clothes’?” Emily questions. “Spencer, you were wearing three fucking layers! What the hell is that about? You gave yourself heat exhaustion because, what? You wanted to feel safe?”

Spencer knows she’s only worried, but he can’t help but focus on the anger in her voice. “It’s complicated, Emily,”

“Then spill! I’ve got time, Spence.”

He nods, but doesn’t start talking until a few seconds after. “Clothes just help me hide. They always have. Ever since I can remember.”

“Why do you need to hide?”

“There’s always one or another reasons why.”

Undeterred, Emily insists, “Give me an example.”

“Hankel.” Spencer plainly states, watching as Emily’s eyes grow wide and then soft.

“Do you still have the scars?”

Spencer shakes his head. “No. It’s been over a decade, and I was young. You can’t even see it even if you know where to look.”

“Then why…?” She trails off, knowing that Spencer will understand.

“I can’t explain it.”

“Why not tell any of us? Did Hotch know?”

Pushing his lips to one side, Spencer skips the first question and confesses, “I think he had suspicions that something was going on. But there was always something else going on in his life. First Haley, and then the Reaper. The Reaper again, and then worrying about Jack. By the times things finally settled down, Mr. Scratch-”

“I don’t need a run down on Hotch’s fucked up life,” Emily interrupts. “Why didn’t you come to any of us?”

Spencer opens and closes his mouth a few times, gaping like a fish, before he finally settles on, “I don’t know.”

“Spence, you need to talk about these things.”

“I know,” Spencer honestly replies. “Emily, I know I should’ve talked to someone about this years ago. But it’s the only way I feel safe.”

Deeply sighing, Emily points out, “You put yourself in real danger today, Spence. You could’ve killed yourself.” Looking straight at him, she questions, “Be honest, is that what you’re going for?”

Shaking his head, Spencer quickly replies, “No. I don’t want to die. It’s just a, a, a security thing.”

Emily sighs again, and rubs a hand over her face. “You’re flying back tonight, Spence.”

That gets him to sit straight up in the bed. “Wait, what? Why? Emily, I-”

She doesn’t even feel bad when she interrupts, “Spence, I’m about three seconds away from checking you into a hospital-”

“What? No!” This time it’s Spencer’s time to unceremoniously interrupt.

“Spence, you almost killed yourself today.” Emily hisses, letting it sink in for a few moments before continuing, “I don’t care if it was by accident, that’s not okay. What don’t you understand about that?”

Spencer looks down at the sheet covering him, wishing he could push his head under it too. “I didn’t realize it got this bad.”

Emily looks at him, gaze softening. “You need help, Spence. I’m sending you home today, and we’re not negotiating that. I’m going to call Morgan, and let him know-”

“Emily!”

“-what’s happening. You’re going to stay with him.”

Spencer feels his jaw clench. “You can’t possibly be serious.”

“Do I look like I’m joking? Would you rather stay with Morgan or in a hospital?” When Spencer doesn’t reply, she takes that as an answer enough. “After we’re done with this case, we’re going to have a long talk, okay? And talk about some protective measures you’re going to start taking.”

“I’m not a kid,”

“And I’m not insinuating that you are.” Emily counters. “You can’t destroy yourself on my watch-  _ I _ won’t let you destroy yourself on my watch.”

Spencer takes a deep breath, grinding his molars, but doesn’t reply.

“I’m going to get the doctor in here now, okay?” As she suspected, Spencer gives her a terrified look, and his heart rate monitor speeds up. Before she can think better of it, she tosses him a sweatshirt that he recognizes from his go-bag. “You can wear this. Nothing more. You understand me?”

All too grateful to cover his body in armor, Spencer fervently nods.

Before walking out the door, Emily continues, “We’re going to get through this, okay Spence?” When he only nods, she adds, “We’re here for you. The whole team. And the rest of your family too, okay? Hotch, and Morgan, and Blake. You can get through this.” Emily pauses on the door frame, giving him a smile.

As she turns, Spencer quietly notes, “Thanks,” When Emily turns around, he looks back at the bed, but still continues, “Thank you.”

After she’s gone, Spencer turns his arms into a pretzel and stuffs them inside of the sweatshirt, letting the sleeves lie limply. He keeps the sheet up to his chin, but the thin layers aren’t enough.

Spencer feels exposed, and he just knows that someone is going to take advantage of this fact. Someone’s going to be able to just waltz in and attack his person.

He brings his legs up to his chest to protect his insides, and then wraps his arms around them. Even with the sweatshirt, there’s nothing to protect Spencer.

When Spencer’s doctor, a middle aged woman, walks in, Spencer has to give it to her that she doesn’t even bat an eye. With a tight smile, she introduces herself, “Hi, Doctor Reid. I’m Doctor Barnett, and I’ve been assigned to your care.”

Spencer eyes her, up and down, some primal part of his brain attempting to determine if she’s a threat. Eventually he settles on a simple, “...Hi.”

“How are you feeling?”

Absolutely terrible. Shitty. The last time he felt this bad was when Charles himself was beating his foot, right before Tobias touched his arm.

Evidently, he’s taken too long, because Dr. Barnett speaks again, “First thing that comes to your mind. Don’t think about it too hard,”

“Exposed.” Spencer settles on. It might not be an emotion to the general public, but it sure is for Spencer.

Dr. Barnett nods. “When you were brought in you were bordering on heat stroke. The paramedics reported that you had as much as four layers on,”

At the moment, Spencer wishes that he still had those four layers on. If he suffered from heat stroke, then at least he would’ve been suffering with his armor on.

“Except for your face, your entire body was covered in multiple layers of clothes,” She sighs, but it’s more tired than disappointed. “You’re highly intelligent, Doctor Reid.”

Spencer swallows, he knows where this is going.

“What were you trying to achieve?”

He doesn’t know the right answer, even though it’s obvious that no matter what he says it will never be the right answer. “It was to protect me.”

“From what?”

“Everything.” That’s really what it is. This is the core of Spencer’s peculiar mental illness. He needs protection from the entire world, because it’s all out to get him. Unfortunately, Spencer’s aware of how paranoid that makes him sound. Maybe he really is turning into his mother.

Dr. Barnett nods, but doesn’t ask him to elaborate. Instead she questions, “Physically, how are you feeling?”

“Cold,” Spencer answers, before he can think better of it. Sure, it’s a manipulative way to get more clothes on, but it’s the honest truth. He hasn’t felt this cold since the first night of prison, when he only had on a single layer of clothes.

However Doctor Barnett seems to easily see through him. Cocking her head to the side, she questions, “Is that your way to get more clothes?”

“I don’t know,” Spencer answers. “How long do I have to stay here for?”

“Physically, you’re fine, just a little dehydrated,” She reports. “But before you get signed out I’m going to have one of our psychologists talk with you.”

Spencer makes a face. He knew it was coming, but it’s so much worse to actually hear it. “When will that happen?”

“Within the next few hours.” Barnett nods. “There’s not much for me to tell you right now, and it’s difficult to make a care plan before you speak with a psychologist. Do you have any questions?”

Thinking about it for a second, Spencer asks, “How long have I been out?”

“About four hours, but that was mostly from a sedative.”

“Oh.”

“Would you like your…” She trails off for a second, “Boss? I think it was? Would you like her to come back?”

Not bothering to correct his doctor, Spencer wonders, “Is there anyone else with her?”

“I can go check, if you’d like,”

“I- Okay,” Spencer answers.

A few moments later, Emily pops her head in. “Hey, Spence,” Emily greets, looking far less mad than when Spencer first woke up. “It’s just me here. Everyone else is working the case.”

Right. It was rather narcissistic of Spencer to believe that his team would stop searching for a serial killer just to see Spencer in the hospital. Especially because the only reason he’s even in here is because of himself.

As if reading his thoughts, Emily supplies, “JJ really wanted to see you, but I didn’t let her. I figured you’d want some space-”

“And it’s better if she’s working. She’s an invaluable asset to the team.”

“That she is,” Emily agrees, “But you’re very mistaken if you think for a second that JJ wouldn’t drop anything to see you. The only reason she’s not here is because I made her stay at the precinct.”

Spencer breathes in, not exactly knowing what to do with that information. “Were you telling the truth? Earlier?”

“Regarding what?”

Underneath the covers, Spencer picks at the sweater. “Are you sending me home today?”

“If you get released today, yes.” Emily answers, not bothering to beat around the bush. “I know you aren’t happy about it, but I can’t have you in the field right now.”

“I understand.” Spencer responds, because he does. Emily’s right, he’s not happy about it, but she’s making the best decision for the safety of the team. “You should probably go back to the case, too.”

Giving Spencer a face disappointment, Emily replies, “I’m not going to leave you here,”

“Nothing’s going to happen,”

“That’s not the point. You’re around a bunch of strangers in an unfamiliar state. I won’t leave.” Emily reiterates.

“The team needs you more than I do.” Spencer replies, echoing his words from almost a decade before, just to make sure that Morgan wouldn’t see how fragile he is. Emily already knows enough, and Spencer doesn’t need her seeing anything more.

Sighing, she suggests, “How about this. When the psychologist arrives, I’ll check up on the team. But,” She quickly adds, “I’ll be back before you’re discharged.”

Although Spencer isn’t a huge fan, he knows that this is the best he’s going to get, so he nods in agreement. 

“And the hospital staff know to not discharge you without me present, so don’t try any funny business,” She adds with a smile.

Despite the implications of the statement, Spencer can’t help but give a small smile as well. It falls just as quickly though, as soon as he remembers how exposed he is. 

The air is thick with tension, and Spencer wishes that he could pull the sheet over his entire head, and just make a little cave on the tiny hospital bed. He has goosebumps on his legs, and Spencer can’t tell if it’s from the cold or from his mind. Frankly, Spencer doesn’t know if he wants to know.

Emily keeps looking like she’s about to ask Spencer something, but stops herself at the last moment, leaving the two of them in silence. The younger man can feel his anxiety grow, and wishes that she would just say whatever it is she wants to.

Unfortunately, he’ll never know what Emily was going to say, because there’s a quiet knock at the door.

Looking up, Emily states, “That’s my cue,” Before shaking hands with the black man that’s just entered.

Spencer’s grateful when he sits down in the chair the furthest from his bed. “Hi, I’m Doctor Umar Iles, but you can just call me ‘Umar,’” He starts with a smile. “Would you prefer for me to call you ‘Doctor Reid’ or ‘Spencer?’”

Out of all of the questions, that was definitely not the first one he was expecting, and although it isn’t a hard one by any means, it still throws him off. After a beat, he answers, “‘Spencer’ is fine.”

“Okay, Spencer.” He nods. “So I heard a little bit about what happened, but I’d like to hear it from you too,”

Squinting, Spencer slowly asks, “Where do you want me to start?”

“Anywhere you want.”

He nods, but doesn’t end up talking. Spencer can feel his heart thud in his chest, and in every passing second it feels like it’s getting heavier.

Being the trained specialist that he is, Umar’s quick to notice. Swooping in, he suggests, “Why don’t you start with what happened when you arrived at the precinct, and we can work backwards?”

With a swallow, Spencer begins, “Agent Alvez and I came back from a crime scene at 12:32 PM.” He can do this, it’s just facts. If there’s one thing Spencer can handle, it’s facts.

“What did you do when you came back?” Umar leads.

“I went to mark the new crime scene on the map.”

“Were you able to?”

Spencer shakes his head. “No. I was too dizzy.”

Umar nods. “I’m sorry to hear that. Do you remember anything else?”

“Luke- Agent Alvez- touched me,” At Umar’s alarmed look, Spencer quickly explains, “Not- not like that. He put his hand on my shoulder.”

“And you didn’t like that,” Umar easily deducts.

Rather than respond, Spencer asks a question of his own, “Am I going to be admitted?”

“Do you think you should be admitted, Spencer?” He counters. 

“Patients that are typically admitted usually have chronic conditions, behavioral comorbidities, or acute and sudden onset conditions that can only be helped inside of the hospital.” Spencer rattles out, knowing full well that he’s avoiding the question.

Umar knows it too. “Do you think you fit in any of those categories?”

“No?”

“Mm,” Umar comments, neither confirming nor denying any of Spencer’s thoughts.

Frowning, Spencer questions, “Why? Do you think I should be admitted?”

“I’ve barely known you for a minute, Spencer,” Umar answers. “I think it’d be rather unprofessional to draw conclusions at this point,” Taking a breath, he continues, “From what I’ve gathered so far, you don’t like being touched. Correct?”

Spencer nods. “Yeah. It’s- I don’t know why.”

“That’s okay,” The other man quickly supplies, “You don’t have to know why. When was the last time you had skin on skin contact?”

Thanks to his eidetic memory, Spencer doesn’t have to take a second to think about it. “In a correctional facility.”

“When was that?”

“One year, eight months, and sixteen days ago.”

If Umar finds it strange that Spencer knows it down to the exact date, he doesn’t make any indication. “And my guess is that it wasn’t a wanted touch?”

Thinking back to the dirty hands of Cat Adams, Spencer shakes his head no.

“At that very moment, how did you react?”

“I couldn’t,”

Cocking his head to the side, Umar requests, “Explain that to me.”

“In order to draw out information, I had to play into her cards,”

“Who’s cards?”

“Catherine Adams. An unsub- unknown subject- that we had previously sent to prison.” Spencer pinches his thin sides, feeling his anxiety grow.

Umar writes something down, before confirming, “So, the last person who touched you was a criminal?”

“Yes.”

“And what about, before that?”

Dirty hands ghost over Spencer’s mouth. The previous three times Spencer was touched were from criminals, killers.

“Spencer?”

“It was in prison.”

“So you don’t exactly have a good track record with people touching you, do you?”

Sucking in a breath, Spencer questions, “Where are you going with this?”

Truthfully, Umar answers, “I’m interested to know where your touch aversion stems from. But, I digress. Let’s go back to today. Did you know what the temperature was going to be today?”

Avoiding the question, Spencer replies, “I live in Virginia. I woke up in Virginia, today.”

“It’s still summer there, isn’t it?” When Spencer doesn’t respond, Umar continues, “What I’m trying to get at, is, were you aware of the temperature when you got dressed?”

“Yes.”

“And you still wore three layers, and a suit jacket on top of that?”

“Yes.” This feels closer to the Doyle interrogation than anything else.

Umar nods, writing a few things down. “Do you often wear more than one layer?”

Although he looks away, Spencer still nods.

“Have you gotten hurt because of it before?”

“Not really,”

“What do you mean by that?”

Kneading the blanket from underneath it, Spencer answers, “Dehydration, occasionally, but nothing this bad.”

After taking a minute to muse on that fact, Umar continues, “I need you to be honest for me. If you were released this very moment, and all of your belongings were returned, would you put on every article of clothing you were wearing before?”

“Yes.”

Umar smiles at him. “Thank you for being honest with me, Spencer.” After a few seconds of writing, he looks back up. “Now that I know a bit more about you, I’m going to ask some generic questions. Would you like to take a break before that? I can get you some water, if you’d like?”

Feeling his chest tighten, Spencer answers, “Sure.”

The second Umar leaves the room, Spencer brings up the blanket past his forehead, allowing himself a few seconds of safety, even in the bright hospital room. He wishes he were wearing socks right now. Spencer can still feel the scars on the bottom of his foot from Charles, and he wants nothing more than to cover them.

Ensuring that Umar won’t come back when he has his head tucked under the blankets, Spencer begrudgingly withdraws it. Still, he sinks into his sweatshirt a little bit more, letting the neck ride up to his chin.

As promised, Umar comes back with a little plastic cup full of water. Setting it on the small table beside Spencer, he notes, “You can take a few minutes, there’s no rush.”

Eyeing the cup, Spencer knows that he’s thirsty, but he can’t stomach bringing his arm out from under the covers.

Somehow understanding the internal struggle, Umar muses, “I’ll let you have a few minutes by yourself, okay? I won’t be far.”

He closes the door after him, and Spencer gives a sigh of relief.

Sticking his hand through the sleeve of the sweatshirt, Spencer retrieves the cup, drinking all of the water, before setting it back down and replacing the cover.

Between the thin sheet, the sweatshirt and the hospital gown, Spencer can almost convince himself that he’s wearing three layers, but he can’t quite fool himself enough when two of the layers are so thin he can practically see through them.

When Umar comes back, the only difference in the picture is the empty cup. Spencer’s all the way back under the covers, only his head peeking out.

“Are you ready to talk a bit more, Spencer? I’ll try to make it quick,”

Although Spencer knows that he only said that to soothe him, he still nods.

“Have you ever seen a counselor or a psychologist before? Or, even a social worker?”

With a timid voice, Spencer answers, “One. I was twenty five.”

Nodding, Umar continues, “Did you achieve the results you were looking for?”

“Not really.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. On average, do you feel happy or content?”

Squinting, Spencer answers, “I’m not sure.”

“That’s alright. Do you often feel anxious or out of control?”

“I guess so?”

“Would you say that feeling is there at least fifty percent of the time?”

Spencer nods.

Turning a page, Umar acknowledges, “Okay, these questions are going to be regarding the last twelve months. How frequently have you been so worried that you find it hard to sleep through the night?”

“Um,” Spencer swallows, feeling like a science experiment. “Maybe, about, half the time?”

“How frequently have you felt lonely or alone?”

“I guess most of the time?”

“At any point in the last twelve months have you considered suicide?”

Prison was over a year ago. “No.”

“Have you been hospitalized in the past year, either from a mental or physical ailment?”

“No.”

“At any point in your life have you been hospitalized?”

With a nod, Spencer replies, “Yeah.”

“And what was that from?” Umar asks, still attempting to make eye contact with Spencer.

Frowning, Spencer asks, “The most recent time?”

“Has there been multiple times?”

“Yes.”

“Then, sure,” Umar nods. “Tell me about the most recent time.”

Taking in a breath, Spencer explains, “I was shot in the neck in 2015. And I stayed at the hospital for a few days.”

“I’m glad to see that you’ve recovered. What were the other times?”

Swallowing, Spencer looks to the side as he recites, “I was shot in the knee in 2010, and although I didn’t stay more than a day, I was still admitted. Earlier in 2010 I was hospitalized for, uhm, anthrax.”

Unsurprisingly, Umar is alarmed. “Sorry, anthrax?”

Spencer gives a shallow nod. “A house was supposed to be cleared, and it wasn’t. It was a new strain, so cipro didn’t work.”

“Wow,” Umar notes. “Were you hospitalized any other times?”

“Once more.”

“What happened then?” When Spencer doesn’t answer, only swallows, Umar tries, “What was the date?”

“February eighteenth, two thousand and seven at two forty five AM, to February twentieth, two thousand and seven at two twenty six PM.” Spencer’s always been able to handle facts. That’s all Hankel was. A series of facts.

Cocking his head to the side, Umar questions, “Was that experience more traumatic than the others?”

“I don’t know.” Spencer blankly states.

“Alright, that’s okay. You don’t have to know,” Umar supplies. “Have you ever been diagnosed with any mental or physical illnesses?”

Biting the side of his cheek, the agent answers, “No. Not- not officially.”

Intrigued, Umar asks, “Are there any unofficial diagnoses? I understand that you have a Master’s in psychology, so you’re probably more aware of yourself than the rest of the population.”

With a frown, Spencer answers, “There aren’t any diagnoses. I haven’t been diagnosed with anything.”

Despite the fact that he looks like he wants to push, Umar doesn’t continue that line of questioning. 

“Do you, yourself, ever feel like you’re being affected by anxiety or depression?”

“I don’t know.”

“Have you ever had an anxiety or panic attack before?”

“I don’t know.”

Umar frowns, and tries one more time, “Have you been bothered by the feeling of dread throughout the past twelve months?”

“I don’t know.”

With a surprising amount of understanding in his voice, Umar asks, “Do you want to take a break, Spencer?”

“Am I going to be hospitalized?”

Spencer’s grateful for his honesty when Umar replies, “I’m trying to decide whether or not you could and should be treated outside of the hospital. I know this is hard, but I’m learning a lot. If you’re feeling overwhelmed, we can take a break-”

“I’m fine.”

With a sigh, Umar points out, “If you want to continue, I need you to be honest with me.”

“I will be,” Spencer replies, hopefully not too quickly.

Jumping straight into it, Umar asks, “Have you experienced feelings of anxiety or dread in the last twelve months?”

“Yes.”

“How often, would you say?”

“I- I guess most of the time,”

Nodding, Umar notes, “Thank you for being honest.” With a breath in between, Umar continues, “When you're wearing multiple layers of clothes, does that reduce your anxiety?”

“I guess so.”

“When’s the last time you didn’t wear over two layers?”

Spencer knows the exact date, the exact time of it all. “I don’t- I’m-” He takes a breath. “A while ago.” He settles on.

“How long is that? Months, years?”

With a quiet voice, Spencer answers, “Over a year.”

“Okay.” Umar nods. Flipping back two pages, Umar notes, “Thank you for telling me all of this, Spencer. I know how difficult this was.”

Spencer just awkwardly nods.

“In my professional opinion, although I don’t think hospitalization is quite necessary, you shouldn’t be left alone.”

Quickly, Spencer speaks up, “I’m not suicidal,”

“I don’t think you are,” Umar agrees, “But I’m worried about you taking care of yourself. Do you live alone, Spencer?”

“Yes,” He nods.

“Would you be able to stay with anyone for the near future?”

“I think that’s what Emily wanted,”

Pursing his lips, Umar asks, “And Emily is the woman that’s at the hospital with you?”

“Yeah. She’s my friend. Unit Chief of the BAU.”

Nodding, Umar questions, “Would you be staying with her?”

“I don’t think so. I’d probably stay with Morgan.”

“And who is that?”

“He used to work at the BAU,” Spencer winces as soon as he says it, not necessarily wanting Umar to know that all the people he knows are related to work. “He’s one of my good friends.”

“Do you trust him?”

“Yes. Without a doubt.”

Umar smiles at his sentiment. “Would you be okay staying with Morgan until you’re a little bit safer?”

Spencer swallows. “Sure.”

“Good, I’m glad.” Umar stands up, and Spencer’s eyes track his movements the entire time. He’s weak, armorless, and he has to make sure that Umar isn’t going to take advantage of that fact. “Would it be alright if I spoke with Emily?”

“Go ahead,” Spencer answers, knowing that Emily’s going to find out one way or another. He’d rather not be the one to live through all of this again.

“Before I leave do you have any questions for me?”

“No.”

“Okay,” Umar smiles. “It was nice meeting you, Spencer.”

Spencer just nods, curling his body up.

He knows that this will be good for him, that logically, he’s going to get the help he needs. However illogically, Spencer wants to run and hide.

Finally letting his emotions process, Spencer turns on his side, bringing his knees up to his chest. And, like a child after a nightmare, Spencer pulls up the blanket and cries.

He doesn’t want this.

He doesn’t want any of this.

All Spencer wants is to get his armor back, before the world hurts him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're like thirty thousand words in, but Spencer's finally going to begin getting the help he needs! Hooray!
> 
> Thank you for everyone who has commented and kudos, it's been keeping me very motivated during this insane time in 2020.  
> Oh one thought before I go: As I was editing this, it occurred to me that Spencer would absolutely thrive in a pandemic, because everyone's wearing masks. Extra unhealthy for him regarding his mental state, but it'd make him happy.
> 
> I hope you all have a good day!! :D


	6. Give it Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The road to recovery is hellish and bumpy, and if Spencer's being completely honest, he'd rather not go through it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Hello! I hope you're all doing well, as always :D Before you get into this chapter, I would like to let you all know that I start calling Derek Morgan 'Derek' rather than 'Morgan' because it got rather confusing with the rest of the family. It's not anything big, but I just wanted to point it out!
> 
> Enjoy! :D
> 
> ((also i edited this chapter really fast, so there might be more mistakes than usual))

They made a plan, which sounded good at the time, but now Spencer would much rather be doing something else.

The plan is this: Morgan flies out, and then spends too much money on first class seats, taking Spencer back with him. Although Spencer much prefers doing this than staying in a hospital until the case is over, he still hates it with a passion.

He’s been lucky in his life so far, rarely flying on planes that aren’t the BAU’s private jet, which he greatly appreciates. Airports themselves are a mess, over crowded and full of unsanitary places, and then cramming a ton of people into a plane on top of it? It’s close to Spencer’s worst nightmare.

Spencer shakes the thought from his head when he hears Morgan and Emily talking outside, not overly quiet, but still enough so that Spencer can’t make out what they’re saying. After a few seconds, Morgan comes in.

“Hey, kid.”

Unable to stop a smile from coming to his face, Spencer greets, “Hi, Morgan.”

“You gotta stop landing yourself in the hospital, you know that?”

“I’m starting to understand,” Spencer nods. “When’s the flight?”

Taking a quick glance at his phone, Morgan replies, “Three hours. ‘You ready to blow this popsicle stand?”

Spencer makes a face, but quickly agrees, “Definitely. Where are my clothes?”

There’s a pause before Morgan answers. “Emily told me about what happened,”

“Morgan, I don’t want to talk about it right now,”

“Fair enough,” The older man sighs. “You’re getting a single shirt, pants, one pair of socks, and your shoes.”

“That’s all?” Spencer can feel himself blanch at the thought of only being able to wear a third of his usual armor.

Shrugging, Morgan points out, “They said you can keep wearing the sweatshirt, if you wanted to.”

Spencer most definitely wants to.

Even though he’s the only one in the room, Spencer still feels incredibly exposed, changing out of his hospital gown. He shivers with the thought that there were nurses that changed him earlier, seeing his entire body. 

After putting on all of the clothes Morgan gave him, Spencer feels absolutely awful. Pulling down the sleeves of his sweatshirt doesn’t do much to help it, either. There’s only one layer between him and the world, and Spencer absolutely despises that.

A knock on the door makes him jump. “Kid, ‘you ready?” Morgan calls through the door.

Spencer opens his mouth to reply, but nothing comes out.

“Kid?” When there’s still no response, Morgan opens the door. Crinkling his eyebrows, Morgan questions, “Are you okay?”

“Fine.” Spencer swallows. Before Morgan can call him out on his answer, Spencer quickly adds, “I’m ready to go home.”

Holding open the door, Morgan muses, “Let’s go then.”

Staring at the doorway, Spencer stays still, legs hanging off the bed. He can feel his heart start beating faster and faster, and there’s nothing he can do about it. The only thing that could possibly help him at the moment would be his armor, but Spencer knows that he’s not going to be able to get that any time soon.

“Reid?”

“I can’t.”

Morgan stays silent for a few moments, obviously attempting to assess the situation without making it worse, which just causes Spencer to feel like one of their many victims. “Alright,” He settles, “Talk to me. What’s goin’ on in that big brain of yours?”

Spencer opens and closes his mouth like a fish, unable to get any sound through.

“Hey, kid?”

Shaking his head, Spencer brings his knees up to his chest, letting his head fall into them, successfully covering more of his skin. It isn’t much, but it still helps him a bit.

“What do you need me to do?”

Through his balled up form, Spencer shrugs. What he needs is to get more clothes on his fragile body, but he knows he won’t get anywhere with that demand. He shrugs again, just for good measure.

Biting his lip, Morgan asks, “Do you want me to get Emily? The psychologist that talked with you?”

Without lifting his head, Spencer gets out, “I just can’t.”

“Can’t what?”

“I can’t.” Spencer replies again, wishing that he could just get out the words that he wants to say, instead of being stuck like this.

“Talk to me,” Morgan requests. “Is it about leaving the room, the hospital? Or something to do with going back home? I thought you were all ready to go,”

Breathlessly, Spencer replies again, “I can’t. I’m too unprotected.”

Even though Spencer can’t see it, Morgan nods, beginning to understand the situation. “I’m right here,” He starts, “I’m not going to let anything happen to you, okay?”

“I’m,” Spencer takes a gulp of air, “Too exposed.”

“I won’t let anyone hurt you, kid.”

“You don’t understand!”

“Then help me understand,”

“I can’t!” Spencer can’t handle this. He doesn’t want any part of his own life. All he wants is to be curled up underneath his numerous blankets, wrapped up in multiple jackets, safe from the world around him.

Morgan is quiet for a few moments before reciting the plan, knowing that it’s helped Spencer in the past. “Here’s what’s going to happen, kid. Emily’s going to drive us to the airport, okay? And we both have TSA PreCheck, so we’re going to get through security real quick, and there won’t be as many people around us. Afterward we’re gonna find a nice quiet place in the airport, and wait for the flight.”

When Spencer’s shoulders begin to slowly drop their tension, Morgan quietly sighs with relief.

“We have first class tickets, okay? So we’re going to be on and off the plane first, and we’ll be further away from other people. It’ll be nice.”

Spencer acknowledges the statement with a sniff.

“I parked at the airport, so we’re gonna go back in my car, away from everyone else. No one’s going to hurt you. No one’s even going to get close to you, okay?”

With a shaky inhale, Spencer nods. “I don’t know how to do this,” He confesses.

Quickly, Morgan soothes, “It’s okay. I’ll be there the entire time. It’ll be a few hours, and then we’ll be back home, before you know it.”

Although his jaw is still tensely clenched, Spencer lifts up his head. He looks at the floor rather than Morgan when he quietly replies, “Okay.”

Nodding, Morgan asks, “You ready?”

“No.” Spencer honestly answers. “But I want to go home.”

“Emily’s got the car out front. Let’s go, pretty boy.”

True to Morgan’s word, they’re in the car alone, and the TSA PreCheck line is further away from the rest of the people. Spencer spends most of the time with his shoulders so close to his ears that his sweatshirt reaches his chin, but Morgan doesn’t say anything about it.

Instead, the older man keeps Spencer distracted by asking random facts about the Austin airport, asking to expand on certain things when he can feel Spencer’s anxiety grow. By the time their plane has arrived, Morgan’s pretty sure that he’s learned enough about the Austin airport to write a dissertation.

The plane is, understandably, absolute hell for Spencer. It’s worse than the jet by a magnitude of what feels like a thousand, and Spencer spends most of the time squished against the window, determined to stay as far away as he can.

His breaths come short and choppy, and any onlooker would assume he’s a bad flier. For the majority of the flight, Spencer tucks his hands under his armpits putting pressure around the edge of his rib cage while also hiding the skin of his hands. He checks multiple times that his ankles are being covered by his socks and pants, wishing that he could have just one more pair of socks. It’s not like he’s asking much.

When the plane lands, Spencer nearly runs off, finding a stray wall in Dulles to lean against. He’s pale in the face when Morgan opens his mouth to ask a question.

Spencer beats him to it, choking out, “I’ll be fine in a second,”

“Take as much time as you need,” Morgan seamlessly replies, giving a terrifying glare to anyone who dares to look at Spencer’s panicking form.

The car ride to the Morgan house is marginally better than the ride to the airport. For one, Spencer knows that he isn’t driving to a place where he’s going to be stuck in a metal cylinder with a hundred wicked strangers.

Although Spencer has been to the new Morgan house, it had been a few months, and he notes the changes in the front garden. When he unlocks the door, Cloony and Hank both run up, happy to greet Morgan.

“Daddy!”

Picking him up, Morgan makes a dramatic groan before settling Hank on his hip. “Didja grow from when I left this afternoon?”

Nodding vigorously, Hank replies, “I did!”

Giving a kiss to Morgan, Savannah smiles, “You did not,” Before taking Hank from Morgan. “Alright, you saw Daddy, now it’s time for bed time,”

“Kisses!”

Leaning over to give his son a kiss on the forehead, Morgan laughs, “Yep, little man.”

“Kisses from Uncle Spenc’r?” He questions with puppy dog eyes that could rival the actual dog.

Before Spencer can stutter out a reply, Morgan supplies, “Maybe in the morning, little man.” As Savannah leaves with Hank up the stairs, Morgan turns to Spencer, “Don’t worry, he’ll have no recollection of that.”

Spencer swallows. “Sorry.”

“What for?”

“I don’t know,” He admits looking down. After he gives Cloony a few pats on his nose, the old dog trots over to his bed, before walking in a few circles, settling down.

Motioning to the kitchen, Morgan questions, “What’d you want for dinner?”

“Oh, I’m not hungry.” Spencer quickly replies, stomach in knots from all of the events over the past twelve hours.

“Tough luck, kid,” Comes the quick reply. “What’re you in the mood for?”

Awkwardly settling down into a chair, Spencer reiterates, “I’m really not hungry,”

Morgan shakes his head. “You’re eatin’ something tonight, kid. You’re skinnier than when I left, and that’s saying something. You’re losing pounds you can’t afford to lose. What’re you thoughts on mac ‘n cheese?”

Spencer gives him a look, but smiles nonetheless. “Mac ‘n cheese?”

With a shrug, Morgan points out, “My kid loves it, figured that’d be the same for my kid brother too.”

Spencer awkwardly looks down, a blush coming to his face.

Just as a pot of water begins to boil, Savannah comes back down the stars, sliding into a chair beside Spencer. It puts him on edge a little bit, but not enough to say anything. 

“And the bedtime story is complete,” She announces, before turning to face Spencer. “It’s been awhile since we’ve talked. How are you? How’s your mom?”

Taking a second to digest the questions, Spencer slowly answers, “I am okay. My mom is back in Bennington.”

Savannah nods, before turning serious. “Derek told me a little about what happened. You can stay here for as long as you need.”

“I’ll be back home soon,” Spencer quickly replies, catching the attention of Derek from the stove.

“That you will not be.” Spencer’s brow furrows at his diction. “You’re gonna be staying with us for a while, Pretty Boy.”

“I- but you have a son,”

“Who loves his Uncle Spencer,” Derek counters.

Frowning, Spencer points out, “I just don’t want to be in the way.”

“You’re not in the way.”

“It feels like I am,” Spencer admits, albeit quietly.

With a soft smile, Derek points out, “Kid, you’re never going to be in the way. We’ll talk more tomorrow, after you’ve gotten some sleep, but I can promise you that you’re not a bother.”

Wrapping his arms around his waist, Spencer replies, “Oh. Okay.”

“There’s that genius brain,” Derek laughs. “Hun, you want some mac ‘n cheese?” Morgan questions, turning to his wife.

She quickly shakes her head, “Mm, I’m fine. I ate with Hank. Who still, by the way, does not like carrots.”

Derek gives her a look. “What do you mean, he used to love carrots!”

Dramatically throwing up her hands, Savannah replies, “I know! It’s the weirdest thing, he just woke up last week and declared carrots disgusting.”

Spencer can’t help but smile at their domesticity. It’s not something that he ever thought he’d live through, even as an outsider.

Although Spencer isn’t exactly sure when it happened, maybe as a side effect from fatherhood, Morgan’s food tastes genuinely good. It probably wouldn’t pass Rossi’s idea of pasta, but nothing passes Rossi’s pasta tests.

He’s hungrier than he realized, and Spencer ends up scarfing down a bowl of mac ‘n cheese in record time. While he eats, Spencer absentmindedly listens to Savannah and Derek, but doesn’t end up contributing to the conversation.

“Guest room,” Derek declares, pulling Spencer out of his thoughts.

“What?”

Laughing, Derek muses, “There’s that 187 IQ. You’re staying in the guest room, and if I don’t move you now, you’re gonna fall asleep on my table.” Giving a look, he adds, “I don’t want drool stains on my table.”

Sputtering, Spencer replies, “I don’t drool!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Derek laughs, catching a smile from Savannah. “C’mon kid, gotta get your beauty sleep,”

The entire Morgan household screams domesticity, yet Spencer’s still surprised to see a nicely made up room poking out of the side of the upstairs hallway. The bed’s all made, and there are even curtains over the window. It feels strange, knowing that Morgan went from a bachelor’s pad to this.

Even though Spencer has his pajamas from his go-bag, he doesn’t change. The idea of being vulnerable in a new place, even a place as safe as the Morgan’s, is something Spencer can’t handle.

However, Spencer doesn’t leave his pajamas to waste away.

He develops a simple plan, an easy way to keep himself safe. Through a bit of maneuvering with a flexibility that Spencer was sure he possessed, he’s able to put his pajamas underneath his clothes. Sticking his arms in and around the neck of his pajama sweater, and pushing his gangly legs into a pair of sweatpants, Spencer gives a sigh of relief.

Although it’s still not too many layers, he’s managed a shirt and two sweaters on top, and two pairs of pants on the bottom. There’s not another pair of socks, which bothers Spencer more than he thinks it ought to, but hopefully it’ll be okay.

There’s no weighted blanket, but there’s a quilt folded on the edge of the bed, which Spencer takes full advantage of. After pulling all of the blankets over his extra clothed body, Spencer allows him to finally breathe.

Spencer drags all of the blankets over his head, knowing full well that in a few minutes he’ll start to feel the lack of oxygen. That’s a problem for future Spencer. Right now, present Spencer needs the comfort that only covering his body can give.

As he begins to feel like he’s suffocating, Spencer tugs the blanket off his nose, but still leaves it covering his mouth and chin.

Through half open door, Spencer can see different colors from Hank’s night light fade through the hallway, which is strangely comforting.

Spencer doesn’t think that it’s from the light itself, but the fact that the rainbow pattern continues all the same way, holding each color for the exact same amount of time. Matching his breathing to every three color changes, Spencer almost feels calm.

Despite the fact that he’s in a rather unfamiliar place without his weighted blanket, Spencer’s eyelids flutter closed, giving a nice layer between the world and his eyes.

Even though Spencer has an eidetic memory, his dreams often get jumbled, and by the time he wakes up, sometimes he’s not quite sure of what he dreamed of. At the moment though, it’s always very clear of what’s happening.

For the first time in a long time, Spencer dreams of Mari.

Right after she left, most of Spencer’s thoughts, and thus his dreams, were filled with Mari. Queries on how she’s doing, what’s happening with her life now that she’s not with Spencer. As Spencer got closer with Ethan, the dreams wound down, until they were only a yearly occurrence.

Of course, Spencer still thought about her, but not as much in his unconscious mind.

But tonight, she’s the first thing Spencer sees in his dream. 

Mari appears to be in the background, as if to trick Spencer that she’s not the main focus, even when he knows she is. Standing by the swing, she pushes a little boy, who Spencer realizes is Marty. He howls from laughter, begging his mom to push him higher, higher, higher.

From afar, Spencer watches.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

Spencer’s head jerks to the side, revealing Maeve. One thing that he’s never quite understood, is why Maeve never quite looks the same in his dreams. Her voice is the calming presence it always was, but she never wears the same clothes, and her hair seems to change colors as often as Garcia’s.

“What’s beautiful?” Spencer questions, keeping his eyes on her.

Smiling, she points out, “Families.”

“Maeve,” Spencer starts, looking down for a moment, “Do you believe in dream analysis?” An odd question to ask someone part of his dream, but Spencer will take any answers at this point.

“Would you like me to?”

At a loss for words, Spencer shakes his head and turns back to looking at Mari. Her son should be older than this by now, but his brain apparently didn’t take that into account.

“I know you still want them,” Maeve speaks up.

“What are you talking about?”

“Children.” She answers. “A family. It’s still your dream isn’t it? Just like you told me, back in that phone booth?”

Nodding, Spencer quietly replies, “I never stopped dreaming of it.”

Turning to face Spencer completely, Maeve points out, “But you know what happens to kids in this world, don’t you?”

“What?”

Maeve just sighs. “Spencer, you out of all people should understand.”

Squinting, Spencer reiterates, “What? Maeve, I don’t… What do you mean?”

With soft eyes, she reminds him, “The breaking point of Gideon? Twice?”

Instantly, Spencer pales.

“And even you,” Maeve continues, “Were abandoned by your parents. JJ’s sister killed herself as a teenager. Morgan got-”

“I get it!” Spencer barks out, shoulders rising with anxiety. Quieter, he muses, “I get it.”

“Do you?” Maeve continues to question, staring intently at Spencer. “I haven’t even gotten to Riley Jenkins, nor the countless human traffickers, taking children from the source.”

Spencer swallows. “You don’t need to remind me. I know, I get it. I understand.”

Nodding, Maeve advises, “Spencer, you have to be smart about this,”

“Smart about what?”

“You bring danger wherever you go, haven’t you realized?”

Stunned, Spencer blinks, blankly staring at the floor. “M-Maeve, I-” He cuts himself off with a broken inhale.

Maeve just smiles sadly. “I’m glad that you’re keeping your distance,” She motions to Mari and her son, “Even in a dream. It’s smart.”

“What are you saying?” Spencer breathlessly questions.

“I’m saying that there’s an innocent child a door away from you.”

After anger flashes over Spencer for a quick second, he states, “I would never do anything to put Hank in danger,”

“You would never do anything to put me in danger, either.” Maeve points out, still sweet and quiet as always. “You’ve never had control over it.”

“Control over what?”

“You know.” She cryptically answers.

Shaking his head, Spencer protests, “I don’t get it, what are you trying to say?”

Brushing a piece of hair around and over her ear, Maeve answers, “I’m answering your question.”

“What question?”

“You asked me if I believed in dream analysis. This is my answer.”

Spencer forces himself to wake up.

He’s sweating from either the amount of layers he’s wearing, the nightmare, or both. Probably both. Still, Spencer doesn’t dare to remove a sheet.

If anything, this has taught him that he needs to be better protected.

Before Spencer can think better of it, he awkwardly rolls off the bed, keeping all of the blankets around his shoulders like a strange robe. He then reaches under the corners of the mattress, removing the fitted sheet from it’s position.

The texture of the mattress feels weird when Spencer lays back down, but it’s far more welcome than not having an extra layer. The elasticity of the fitted sheet poses as a problem, but eventually Spencer figures out how to hook it over his feet and shoulders, and it begins to work as another piece of armor between him and the world.

For a long while, all Spencer can hear is his own breathing, rattling around in his chest like it’s not even supposed to be there. Hank’s night light is still on, but now Spencer can’t handle seeing the small rays of light.

Even though Derek told him not to, Spencer shuffles over the door to close it.

Light means that his body is illuminated, and if there’s one thing his body can’t be, it’s illuminated, presented to the world like some sick show-and-tell.

From the elbows, Spencer wraps his arms around his body and stays there, silent and unmoving. Some part of his brain still tells him that he’s exposed to the world, and this time, Spencer can’t do anything about it.

No matter what position Spencer can arrange his body on the bed, he’s still not covered. Spencer can feel his skin prickling from sweat, but he still wishes he were covered more. It would be better at home, he knows that for a fact.

At home, there’s no mirrors, nothing for the world to see Spencer, and nothing for Spencer to see himself. At home, he’s free to walk around draped in blankets over sweatshirts over sweaters over shirts, and no one’s there to tell him otherwise.

Here though, here, he’s as fragile as he could ever be.

He’s at his weakest in a place that he doesn’t even know that well, and to make matters worse, there’s a child, a toddler near him. Maeve’s right, no matter how much he covers himself, the world will seek him out, and the world will hurt Hank just to get at him.

Spencer stays wide awake until the first bits of dawn peek through the blinds. He feels worse now that the sun is highlighting his weak form.

Part of his brain knows that he has to get up, replace the fitted sheet before Derek or Savannah find out, but the other part of his brain tells him that getting rid of a layer will let the world tear him apart. So he stays, hidden underneath a handful of covers, away from the world.

Eventually, though, Spencer’s luck runs out, and Derek opens the door to reveal him.

Spencer tenses when he hears the door open, but doesn’t talk, and doesn’t make any other indication that he’s aware of Derek’s presence.

Derek sighs softly, but in the quiet room, Spencer can hear it like the chime of a bell. “Alright kid, we gotta talk,” He goes to take a step closer, but stops suddenly. “You took the fitted sheet off? Really, Pretty Boy? I should’a known your brain would’ve thought of something like that,” Derek muses, mostly to himself.

“‘S fine,” Spencer mutters, not really knowing what he’s referring to.

“There is not a single thing in this scene in front of me that I can categorize as ‘fine,’ kid. What’s goin’ on? Talk to me.”

Even though his head is still pressed into the mattress, Spencer shakes it, hoping that Derek will get the message. 

“You gotta take at least one of those layers off, okay?”

“Can’t,”

“Why not?” Derek asks, not wasting a single second.

After taking a moment to get his thoughts in order, Spencer replies, “Too dangerous. I- I can’t explain it.”

“From where I’m standing,” Derek begins, and Spencer can nearly hear the crossing of his arms, “It’s looking pretty dangerous staying under all of those blankets in this heat.”

“I’m okay,”

Derek sighs. “Yeah, you don’t get to decide that, Mister Heat Exhaustion.”

Making a face, Spencer counters,  _ “Doctor _ Heat Exhaustion.”

“Now is not the time, kid,” Derek replies, all teasing gone from his voice. “You’re going to have to take some of those blankets off, before you get hurt.”

Huffing, Spencer tries to explain, “I told you, it’s too dangerous without them.”

“Alright, Reid. Here’s the deal, you either have to take off some of these blankets, or I’m going to do it for you.”

Tensing underneath his layers, Spencer states, “You can’t do that!”

“Then be smart about it.”

Spencer bites his lip, but when Derek doesn’t relent, he kicks off one of the blankets, ignoring the twisting in his stomach.

“There we go,” Derek nods. “One more,”

“Wh- no.”

Leaning against the wall, the older man points out, “You’re going to have to get up at some point, and you’re not walking into my kitchen covered in blankets, kid.”

As a response, Spencer just scowls.

“Pretty boy,” Derek begins, “You’re going downstairs to my kitchen, nobody’s gonna hurt you. You’re safe.”

Logically, Spencer understands that. He knows that there’s absolutely nothing in the Morgan house that could hurt him, but illogically, Spencer feels sick to his stomach. “Give me a minute?” He tries, not wanting to shed his layers with someone beside him.

“Sure,” Derek nods. “You better be out in five minutes though, or I’m giving your food to Cloony.” Comes the warning, as he turns to leave.

Spencer stays huddled underneath the blankets for the next two minutes, but finally convinces himself to take them off. Even with the extra layers from his pajamas, he doesn’t feel safe. Nevertheless, Spencer gives himself a quick pep talk, and heads down the stairs.

On a green high chair sits Hank, half devouring Cheerios, and half throwing them at his father. As they bounce off Derek’s forehead (the kid has scary good aim for being nearly two years old), Cloony eats them off the floor. It’s a strange cycle, but somehow, it works.

“Spencer!” Hank gleefully shouts, throwing the next handful of cereal at Spencer instead of Derek. After being momentarily stunned, Spencer smiles.

“Hi, Hank.”

As the little boy lifts up his hand again, Derek quickly grabs it and sets it back down. “Please don’t throw cereal at your uncle, little man,”

“I honestly don’t mind- wait,” Spencer furrows his brow.

“What’s on your mind, kid?”

Sliding into a chair, letting his legs be covered by the table, Spencer points out, “You call your two year old ‘man,’ but call me, someone who's thirty seven, a ‘boy.’ What’s that about?”

Grinning, Derek replies, “What? You’re telling me that the nicknames don’t fit?”

“A little strange,” Spencer mutters with a smile, not really sure where he’s going with it. “Where’s Savannah?”

“Early shift,” Derek reports, staring at his son as he gears up to throw more cereal. “You know, it’s funny. I always assumed I’d be the one leaving at strange times in the day, but it’s the complete opposite.”

Spencer awkwardly nods. “Does it bother you?”

“Not at all,” Comes the quick reply. “I can’t imagine spending so much time away from Hank,” Derek turns towards his son, “Even when he throws his food at me!”

“Catch!” Hank gleefully shouts, as a nice bit of Cheerio confetti makes its way onto Derek’s face.

“Today’s a babysitter day though,”

“Why?” Spencer questions, already feeling the anxiety quell in his chest.”

“You and me have quite the agenda to get through today, Pretty Boy.”

Slipping his hands under his thighs for pressure, Spencer asks, “What do you mean?”

“Well, you’re gonna be staying with us for awhile, so- Little Man, the food goes  _ in  _ your mouth- I figured that we’d stop by your apartment and grab some things.”

Although he isn’t happy about it, Spencer nods. “How long do I have to stay here?”

“And that brings up the next thing on the agenda,”

“Which is?”

With raised eyebrows, Derek finishes, “Finding a therapist for you.”

Spencer’s mouth opens and closes like a fish, before he settles on an elegant, “What?”

“C’mon kid, IQ of 187, you thought you could just go through this without some sort of help?” Derek makes a good point, even if Spencer doesn’t want to acknowledge it.

Scrunching his eyes, he tries to bargain, “But that’s why I’m staying with you,”

“I’m an ex profiler, kid. Not a psychologist.”

“I just,” Spencer sucks in a breath, “Don’t get why it’s necessary.”

Without missing a beat, Derek questions, “How many layers do you have on right now? And don’t lie to me, you know that I’ve learned all of your tells,”

Despite the warning, Spencer still considers lying. Ultimately though, he quietly replies, “Only two,”

“How many on top?”

With a nasty look, the younger man answers, “Three.”

Unamused, Derek adds in, “And it’s supposed to hit eighty-nine today. You do realize that wearing a sweatshirt, with another sweater underneath, isn’t healthy?”

“How did you…?”

“I was the one that gave you your pajamas, kid,” Morgan answers the half question. “I know what you put on.”

Spencer gives a deep sigh, but otherwise doesn’t say anything. As if sensing the tension in the air, Cloony walks beside Spencer, setting his nose down on his lap. Despite dogs’ general hatred of Spencer, Cloony likes him.

With careful hands, Spencer rubs his graying snout, making a face when he gets a bit of drool over his pants. Cloony gives a content huff, and stays by Spencer, making a little home for himself on the kitchen floor.

After a few minutes, Hank finally runs out of Cheerios, and the kitchen is eerily quiet, especially given that there’s a two year old and a dog involved. 

“When are we going to my apartment?” Spencer asks, breaking the silence.

“We can go after you eat,”

“Morgan, I’m not hungry.” The younger man protests.

With a concerned look, Derek counters, “You need to eat something.”

“I’ll eat a big lunch. I’m honestly not hungry right now.”

Although he doesn’t look happy about it, Derek backs down. “Alright. But I’m holding you to that lunch, you know.” Sighing, he continues, “I’ll call the babysitter, go put on some shoes. And kid?”

“Yeah?”

“Shed one of your sweaters.”

Rather than look at Derek, Spencer faces Cloony instead. At least the dog doesn’t judge him. Carefully stepping around him, Spencer makes his way back up the stairs.

Spencer lets tension that he didn’t even know he had release as soon as he steps in the room. Even though the door is still open, and the blinds over the window still let plenty of light in, Spencer feels safe. He’s alone, where no one can get to him.

The thought of taking off one of his shirts is nauseating, so Spencer keeps everything on, deciding that he’ll just wear his strange half pajama combo for the day. It’s infinitely better than the alternative.

However, Derek doesn’t feel the same way.

They’re both in the car, and it doesn’t escape the older man that Spencer keeps shifting closer and closer toward the window, as if Derek had a plague. He isn’t offended by it, but it still hurts somewhere in his chest.

Looking over to Spencer during a red light, Derek questions, “You didn’t take off any layers, did you?”

In lieu of an answer, Spencer reports, “Did you know that clothing blocks out UV radiation better than any other type of skin protection? Including umbrellas and sunscreen, chemical and physical types alike.”

“You’re not protecting yourself from the sun.” Derek lamely points out. 

Under his breath, Spencer mutters, “It’s still protection.”

The rest of the car ride is tense for both of them, but it’s nothing to rival what happens afterward.

Watching Derek close his own door, Spencer questions, “You’re coming in?”

“Is that really a question that you don’t know the answer to?”

Spencer purses his lips. “It’s really not necessary. I’m an adult. I’m capable of making my way up a flight of stairs into my apartment.”

“Glad to hear it,” Derek replies, taking a few steps closer to the doorway. “You ready to go inside?”

By the time they make it to Spencer’s door, he can feel his heart pounding, thump after thump, in his chest. “It’s really not necessary-”

“Kid,” Derek interrupts, “The more you try and convince me to stay away from your apartment, the more concerned I get. You’re not getting out of this. Just open the door.”

Spencer swallows, but still answers, “Fine.”

At first glance, his apartment could definitely pass as nothing to worry about. Sure, it’s a little eccentric, but that’s just how Spencer is. However, after spending a few seconds in, really taking in the scene around him, something doesn’t sit well with Derek.

Maybe it’s the old profiler in him, or maybe it’s the brotherly worry, but there’s something wrong that Derek can’t quite place.

Pulling the older man out of his thoughts, Spencer awkwardly asks, “What should I… bring?”

“Whatever you want to live with,” Derek answers. “Probably more clothes, but not all to wear at once. We’re talking one shirt per day.”

With a scowl, Spencer makes his way into his room, piling his clothes into the suitcase living underneath his bed. Despite Derek’s words, he still packs far too many sweaters.

He flinches when Derek makes himself known. “How’s it going in here, kid?”

Spencer jerks up, frowning when he sees Derek leaning against the door frame. He knows it’s stupid, but all Spencer comprehends is that his only way out of the room is being blocked. Well, that’s not completely true. He could always go for the window, but he’s a flight and a half above the street below, so it probably wouldn’t be ideal.

“‘S fine.” Spencer answers, ignoring his anxiety rise once again. This is stupid. It’s Derek, he would never trap Spencer in a room. Yet the fear is still there.

The older man is silent for a few moments, before uttering, “That’s what’s different,”

“What?” Spencer looks up.

Pointing to the curtains, Derek explains, “The curtains. Why are they blackout? You hate the dark, you always have.”

Shrugging, Spencer tries to nonchalantly counter, “I’m not afraid of it anymore.”

“Bullshit,”

“I- what?”

“Fears that have lasted over thirty years old don’t just go away, Reid. What’s going on with you?”

Anger bubbling up, Spencer cuts in, “Was that not a valid answer for you, Morgan?”

Motioning to the living room, Derek points out, “This place doesn’t even feel like you, anymore. It’s completely covered, it’s a mess-”

“What do you want me to say? Huh?” Spencer asks, slamming his suitcase closed. “That everything in my home is in shreds because I had a paranoid schizophrenic living here, unassisted? That I couldn’t take care of it while I was in prison?”

Derek sighs. “Kid, you know that’s not what I’m getting at,”

“Then what are you trying to get at? Not everyone has a perfect little family like yours, Morgan!” As soon as the words come out of his mouth, Spencer regrets them. “I’m sorry,” He adds, quietly. Spencer knows what Morgan gave up to have a family, and if he could, he would take it right back.

All of the fight leaves both of their bodies, and Morgan moves to sit beside Spencer on his blanket filled bed. “What happened, Pretty Boy?”

Ringing out his hands, Spencer questions, “What do you mean?”

“You were doin’ okay the last time I saw you. What changed? What happened?”

“Morgan,” Spencer starts, looking at his lap rather than the other conversationalist. “It’s not something new. I- I wasn’t- the last time you saw me,” Spencer huffs, frustrated with his words. He knows what he wants to say, but the words won’t come out.

Quietly, Derek apologizes, “I’m sorry I didn’t notice,”

“No, don’t,” Spencer quickly assures him. “You just had a kid, and it’s not like anyone else really noticed. Don’t blame yourself.”

“No one else noticed?”

“I don’t know,” Spencer answers honestly. “Well, maybe they did. I think they knew something was wrong. They didn’t really know how to help. Which is fine, you know-”

Shaking his head, Derek interrupts, “It’s not fine.”

“I don’t blame them,”

“Neither do I. That doesn’t stop me from wishing we could’ve gotten you help before now.” Derek points out, sighing from the other side of the bed.

“Yeah,” Spencer replies, just to say something, not necessarily agreeing with the other man’s sentiment. “I’m gonna, um,” He awkwardly motions to his suitcase, “Finish.”

Derek nods. “Alright.” They both share a glance before Derek leaves, keeping the door open behind him.

Feeling his shoulders sag from relief when Derek leaves, Spencer continues to pack, placing shirt after shirt in the case. He puts Ethan’s purple scarf in as well, stuffing it into the side, so no one will notice the fact that he’s packing winter clothes in the summer.

Well, besides the numerous sweatshirts and sweaters.

From his wardrobe, Spencer glances out the bedroom door, taking in information before he can stop himself from doing so. Derek’s not in his field of vision, and his brain has already compiled a plan to take advantage of this fact.

Even though Spencer knows he shouldn’t, he still rolls out one of his mismatched pairs of gaudy knee high socks. In a swift motion, Spencer tears off his shoes and puts the socks on. But as he goes to put his shoes back on, he pauses.

Taking another quick glance out the door, Spencer puts on another pair. Finally, Spencer feels like he can breathe, even just a little bit.

After all, if there’s one thing Charles taught him, it’s that bad things happen when his feet are exposed. Now, Spencer’s put a protective layer between the soles of his feet and the world. Nobody’s going to be able to get to them.

When he trudges out of his room, suitcase in tow, Derek’s none the wiser.

Along with the clothes, Spencer gathers another bag full of books that he’ll make Derek carry. Inside the bag lay older books, some non-fiction, but most of them fiction. When Diana stayed with him, even for the short amount of time, Spencer’s love for fiction came back tenfold, and he’s determined to keep it going.

All of Spencer’s belongings are heavy. The thick clothes, the sack of books, and the weighted blanket, all make for a heavyweight champion in belongings.

Though to be fair, Spencer has learned that the more weight on his back, the less weight lies on his heart. And something tells him that isn’t going to change any time soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhhh healing is not linear, and that fact is no different for Spencer Reid. Just because he's going to start getting help doesn't mean that everything is going to start looking up and going well in his life, because that's just not how getting healthy works, unfortunately :(
> 
> Special thanks to BrightTerror who was the brilliant mind behind the first class idea! (And I now know that there's ice cream in first class)
> 
> Anyway, I had literally so much fun writing Hank, he's absolutely adorable, and I'm so excited to continue writing him! I hope your day is going well, and I hope that the world is looking a little bit brighter for you all, now that we have total confirmation that Orange Man will be out of the office in January!!  
> Love you all <3


	7. Can You Take a Step Back, Please?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The world is dangerous, and even more so toward children.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I hope everyone's weekend has been good so far :D   
> I have exciting news: Today is my birthday!! I'm officially an adult! Wahoo!
> 
> Anyway, without further ado, please enjoy this chapter!!
> 
> Oh also TW for anything and everything that happened in the childhood of the BAU members. This includes domestic abuse, suicide, and sexual assault. All of these are only mentioned once, and not expanded on.

Spencer’s entire day was filled with anxiety. 

He knew that it was going to happen, especially after secretly putting extra socks on, but it’s still rather unfortunate. Originally, Spencer thought that the extra pairs would help him, and they are, but now he’s harboring feelings of guilt with the knowledge that Derek doesn’t know. 

Spencer ends up eating an entire sandwich, something he honestly hadn’t eaten in a long time. Unlike breakfast, most of Hank’s food ends up going in his mouth, which is a win for all included parties. Except for the lettuce. He peels that off and gives it to Cloony, while Derek pretends not to notice.

Derek ends up going to the backyard, sawing through wooden panels of his next project, leaving Spencer alone with one of his Godsons. Of course, the door is still open, and Spencer often finds Derek peering through it, just to make sure everything’s okay. Spencer can’t blame him.

Although it’s not as easy as it was with JJ’s children, Spencer still finds himself quickly enamored with Hank. Hank sits on the rug in the living room, stacking a few blocks up, before dramatically knocking them down, having the time of his life.

He has large colored blocks, as well as a handful of smaller plain wooden blocks, and Spencer watches as Hank learns over and over that they’re easier to stack when the big ones are on the bottom. 

“Watch me, watch me!” He delightedly cries, smacking a small hand along the side of his tower, watching them all crumble to the ground. With a well natured laugh, Hank points out all of the blocks that flew the furthest. 

After he’s gathered all of them back, he trusts a few of them in Spencer’s hands. “You do it. Build with me!”

Smiling, Spencer complies. They both sit cross legged on the rug, stacking block after block. Even though it’s not necessarily what he thought he’d use it for, his engineering doctorate certainly comes in handy.

He’s able to create strange designs, using the force of gravity to keep certain blocks in a position that seems like it shouldn’t work. Spencer makes a few archways, much to Hank’s disbelief. The boy tries to make his own, but it doesn’t work as well.

Spencer lets one of the small wooden blocks drop from his thumb and forefinger, before turning to Hank with a smile. “Hey, Hank, you want to see something?”

Nodding vigorously, he replies, “Yeah! What is it? Show me!”

Scooting in a little closer, Spencer holds out the block in his palm. “Alright, you see this?”

“Uh huh, I see it!”

“So there’s something super cool about this block, did you know that?”

“What’s cool about it? What is it!?”

Grinning, Spencer replies, “It’s a magic block!” Before doing an easy sleight of hand, revealing an empty palm a second later.

Letting his mouth hang open, Hank murmurs, “Whoa. Where’d it go?”

“It looks like it disappeared!” Spencer exclaims, grinning when he sees Hank’s expression of disbelief. “Help me look for it?”

“Yeah!” The boy nods, already checking underneath the carpet.

Spencer lets him look for about twenty seconds, before scooting closer to him. “Oh, wait, I think I found it,”

“Where?!”

“You have it, silly,”

With wide eyes, Hank tries to explain, “No I don’t! I don’t got the block!”

“Sure you do,” Spencer nods, moving his right hand toward Hank’s ear. “It was right here, the whole time, behind your ear!”

Hank’s little mouth drops wide open, reminding Spencer of the first time he showed a trick to Henry, and later Michael. “Whoa! I didn’t know it was there!”

Spencer does his best to share a look of disbelief with his godson. “Me neither!”

Snatching the block out of Spencer’s open hand, Hank studies all of the surfaces of it, as if it holds some sort of secret to the universe. However due to his sudden distraction of a wooden block, he doesn’t notice his uncle’s face suddenly pale.

Spencer stays frozen for a few moments, before withdrawing his hand, putting it under his armpit. It’s been over a year since someone touched him outside of a dream, and it feels so incredibly wrong. Even though it was just the grabby little hands of a child, Spencer still feels his heart speed up. It’s not a welcome feeling.

His stupor ends when Hank throws the cube to the ground, still attempting to figure out how it seemingly disappeared from thin air. Moving a few feet away, Spencer watches as his godson gives a nasty glare to his toy.

But it only lasts for a few moments, until Hank declares, “I have cars!”

“You- wait- what?” Spencer questions, completely caught off guard.

“Yeah! Daddy once ‘brang’ them home for me! I’ll show you!” He then quickly stands up, zooming up the stairs far faster than Spencer thinks any two year old has the right to do. And then, just as quickly, Hank makes it back down, nearly falling over his own feet.

In his hands lie a pile of Hot Wheels, plastic cars clinking against each other and their wheels. After he unceremoniously dumps them on the ground, Spencer can see the six individual cars, and something reaches into the very back of his memory.

Picking up the fire truck, Hank rolls it around a few of the wooden blocks, before stacking them up, and crashing the car into them. While sitting on his knees, Hank has the car fly in the air, while he makes little car and airplane noises. 

Silently, Spencer watches as Hanks makes a few block towers with the bigger ones, before clutching the fire truck again. “Ready?” He asks Spencer, even though the boy has already begun to move the car. “Vrrrrrooooom!” Hank happily exclaims as the car takes flight.

When it reaches the block towers, he makes little noises of explosions, before delightedly laughing when the blocks scatter. He’s done it over fifteen times just today, but still gets the same amount of happiness as the first time.

Even from afar, it still brings a smile to Spencer’s face.

At some point, Hank unpromptedly points to a car and explains, “I don’t like that one.”

“Why not?” Spencer questions, rather excited to hear the kid’s thought process.

Wrinkling his nose, Hank states, “‘Cause it looks like carrots.”

Sure enough, the little hot wheel is bright orange, and about the size of a baby carrot. “Did you know that there are four types of carrots? And within those, there are forty four different sub variants.”

Hank doesn’t really understand, but he does know that forty four is a big number for a food that he doesn’t like. “Gross.”

“And orange ones,” Spencer motions to the car, “Originate from the Netherlands, even though the majority of carrots are now grown in China.”

Hank doesn’t really care, but it’s nice for his facts to not be interrupted. After Spencer’s finished, Hank puts it in his own thoughts, “I don’t like carrots.”

“So I’ve heard,” Spencer humors him. “Why not?”

“They’re icky.” Hank declares, and Spencer can’t really argue with that logic. If only he could use such definitive statements at work.

The thought of work sets Spencer on edge a bit, but he forces it back down. He’ll deal with work later, it’s fine. Even though there’s a serial killer on the loose in Texas, who he should be helping catch, it’s fine.

But what if someone else gets hurt, or even killed, because Spencer can’t work the case? What if his selfishness of clothes in summer costs someone their life? An entire spider web of family and friends will have to grieve, because of something that Spencer did.

“Kid!”

Spencer's head jerks up, and he curls into himself a bit. “What?” He’s surprised to see Derek, looking down at him with a quirked up eyebrow.

“You okay? I was callin’ your name a couple times there,”

Nodding, Spencer muses, “I’m fine. Hank was just telling me about his hatred for carrots.” At that statement, Hank nods, as if to confirm.

“I don’t understand you, Little Man,” Derek fondly notes, shaking the hair of Hank’s slowly growing afro. “You loved carrots! What’s changed?”

“They’re icky,” Hank explains, while driving a car around his dad’s feet.

With a friendly scoff, Derek notes, “Well, I can’t argue with that logic. What about you, Pretty Boy?”

“It’s a,” Spencer furrows his eyebrows for a second. “Pretty definitive statement from where I stand. Er, sit.”

Derek just laughs at him. “Never change, kid. Never change.”

Spencer doesn’t know exactly what to say to that, so he just gives an awkward smile and nods. Humans are changing beings, that’s just the nature of them. He can’t control it. “Has Emily said anything about the case?”

“No case talk.” Derek warns. “Plus, you’re not even on the case, and I don’t work for the BAU anymore, so she’s not even legally allowed to tell us.”

“When has legality ever stopped Emily?” Spencer questions, but doesn’t push it.

Moving a few of Hank’s blocks closer to him, Derek acknowledges, “You make a good point. I guess things have changed since she became Unit Chief?”

“Not her ability to follow the rules,” Spencer quietly adds, grinning when it elicits a smile from the older man.

After watching his son for a few moments, Derek speaks up, “You’ve got a few hours ‘til therapy,” Ignoring Spencer’s face, he continues, “Anything you want to do until then?”

Spencer thinks on it, before replying, “I think I’ll write to my mom. I didn’t yesterday.”

“‘You still writin’ to her everyday?”

“I’m trying to,” Comes the response. “After,” Spencer swallows, “After everything that’s happened over the past two years I’ve gotten out of the habit, and I obviously didn’t need to when she lived with me. But I’d like to start again.”

Derek nods. “I’m glad. That’s good for you, kid.”

Looking down, Spencer quietly admits, “I hope it’ll somehow help her.”

Although it’s obvious Derek wants to say something, probably regarding the guilt Spencer seems to permanently carry on his shoulders, he just nods again. “Do me a favor?”

Looking up, Spencer replies, “Sure. What is it?”

“Write your letter out here, not in the room?”

Spencer wants to question why, but he knows better than that by now. Derek doesn’t have the ability to look after his two year old kid, and Spencer at the same time.

“It’s not that I don’t trust you, but-”

“It’s fine.” Spencer interrupts. He understands, he really does. And it only hurts a tiny bit.

Spencer starts his letter the same way he always does,

_ Hi Mom, _

But doesn’t know where to go from there. It’s always seemed like a bit of a childish way to start a letter, but when he began them, he was just a child. Twelve years old and a state away, Spencer wrote like he was just talking with her.

_ I hope you’re doing well, _

Spencer continues to write, wincing at how it sounds. He always wishes his mom is doing well, whether or not he writes it, but Spencer doesn’t want it to seem like he’s only now wishing his mom is well. Shaking his head to get out of his thoughts, Spencer puts his pen back on the paper, and writes the first thing that comes to mind.

_ I’ve been doing okay, since I got back on the team, even with the thirty mandatory off days. I guess lately though, I’ve been struggling. _

Biting his lip, Spencer thinks about where he wants to go from here. Writing a letter to his mom has never been difficult for him, which just makes this entire process worse. Why is he struggling so much today? He’s always just been able to whiz through it.

_ It’s not anything to worry about, of course, but I think I’ll be taking more than just thirty days off of work now. To be honest, I’m not sure when I’ll be back. _

Spencer sighs. He knows why it’s difficult for him today. Although he’s not outright lying to his mom, he’s never kept something from her. Save for the anthrax case, Spencer has written everything in his letters, even though the Fisher King case made him a bit weary.

Everything that happens in his less than stellar life, Spencer has told his mom. She’s always known everything about him, but for some reason, Spencer can’t bring himself to tell her that he had been hospitalized yesterday.

_ I really am okay though, it’s nothing to worry about. I haven’t gotten myself into any trouble like before. _

He’s always wanted to be strong for Diana, ever since he was ten years old, and even though he’s in his thirties, Spencer doesn’t want that fact to change. That’s how it’s always been: Spencer worrying about Diana, and not vice versa.

_ I think I might find some time to visit you back in Bennington, but it might not be for a while. I know that you’ve been on a few more medications, and I really hope they’ve been helping you. From what Doctor Evans has told me, things have been going pretty well over there, and I have high hopes for you. _

Diana’s always been a bit of a loose canon, even in standards for paranoid schizophrenics. Spencer’s used to it though, and has long ago embraced that fact.

_ Before I left on this past case, I sent you a few books, so they should be arriving within the next few days. I know you told me not to, but I ended up spending a bit more money so I could mail them Priority to get them to you a few days earlier. _

_ You had been writing about Vonnegut for the past few letters, and I wanted to make sure that you’re able to read all of his stories. I remember the strange Vonnegut phase you went through when I was younger.  _ Harrison Bergeron _ still scares me, even in my thirties. _

Spencer smiles, thinking of the moments in his childhood when he’d lay on the bed with his mother as she read short stories by Vonnegut.

At eight years old, Spencer knew that he had an extraordinary mind, and when Diana read about the handicaps in  _ Harrison Bergeron, _ it scared Spencer half to death. Being forced to stop thinking when he had a good idea was simply too much for him to bear. Luckily, Diana always noticed, tucking Spencer underneath her chin.

_ I know that a few of your new doctors probably won’t appreciate you reading Vonnegut stories, but I’m sure Doctor Evans will sway them to allow it. She’s always been understanding of your love of fiction, and the stimulating effects it has on the brain. _

A loud and sudden, “Vrrooooom!” From Hank interrupts Spencer’s thoughts, and he looks over to see Derek playing cars with his son. It’s incredibly domestic, and it plunges Spencer into an entire new thought process.

Spencer had somehow always thought of a life exactly like this. A happy kid, and happier parents, without a single care in the world. Without schizophrenia, without bullying, without assault, and without murder.

It’s mundane, for the rest of the world, but to Spencer, it is the world.

He sighs when he remembers what Maeve told him. Or rather, what Dream Maeve said, so really, what his subconscious wanted him to know.

She wasn’t wrong though, that’s the thing. The world isn’t kind to children. He’d think that he would’ve learned his lesson when he was a child himself, paying electricity bills for his sick mom, being stripped of all of his clothes, constantly bullied for twelve years straight.

But instead, Spencer naively chalked it up to just having a bad childhood.

It’s not just him though. The rest of the world’s children also suffer.

Riley Jenkins is killed and stuffed behind a dryer, Derek Morgan is manipulated and raped, Rosyln Jareau finds no happiness in the world and kills herself, and JJ lives through it, just like Michael from highschool. Aaron Hotchner is beated countless times, shielding his brother from their hellish father, David Rossi, at the ripe age of eighteen, is thrusted into the jungle, watching other boys his age get killed in front of him. Ethan Blake is stolen from the world one cold evening, when nothing could’ve been done for him.

It’s not just Spencer.

It’s the entire world, out for blood, out for the weakest parts of humanity. 

When Spencer blinks and sees Savannah at the front door, crouching down to kiss her husband and son, he’s nauseated. Only bad things can happen from this scenario. 

Hank, with his innocent little mind, will be stolen from the world, just like the rest of the children. And Spencer can’t offer him any of his own protection.

_ I don’t have much to say for today’s letter, sorry mom. I’m sure you’ll understand though. After all, you’ve always understood me far better than I ever had. _

_ Love, Spencer. _

Even after signing the letter, Spencer keeps his pen hovering a centimeter above the page, as if he’s going to be writing more in just a few moments. It takes far too long for him to unfreeze and set his fountain pen down.

Mari’s fountain pen.

Mari’s fountain pen, Ethan’s purple scarf, William Reid’s jacket, and Gideon’s note. Spencer supposes he should be happy that at least when people leave him, they give him something in return. It’s rather kind of them.

With fast yet clunky movements, Spencer pushes himself from the table, wooden dining room chair scraping across the floor, making him wince. Derek looks up, and Spencer waves somewhere toward the vicinity of the bathroom, mumbles some excuse that anyone could see through, even without being an ex profiler.

It takes everything in Spencer’s power to not slam the door before he falls apart, sinking to the floor. Spencer’s still wearing the same sweatshirt since Emily tossed it to him in the hospital, and he’s never been more grateful for it. 

He drags the hood over his head, before hiding the rest of his face in his knees. Spencer doesn’t know exactly what triggered it, but he just can’t handle the world right now. 

The blood through his veins pump through his body too fast for comfort, but Spencer can’t do anything to hide it. All he can do is sit against the door, back pulled taught, body heaving broken breaths.

Spencer can’t think straight. He doesn’t even know how he feels. All he knows is that Hank is in danger because of himself, and he can’t do anything in his power to stop that. 

There’s a knock on the door, and Spencer scrambles away from it, tucking himself next to the tub and toilet.

“Kid?”

Spencer shakes his head, as if Derek is able to see through the door. When there’s no response, Derek opens the door to reveal Spencer huddled in the corner of his downstairs bathroom. Not exactly the most comforting sigh.

“Reid?”

Unable to form any sort of coherent sentence, Spencer mutters, “No,” While shaking his head, wishing that the wall could physically absorb him.

“What’s going on, kid?” Derek asks in a quiet voice.

Although Spencer appreciates it, he still can’t really handle any type of auditory input at the moment, so he settles for another shake of his head. It feels like the floor itself is vibrating, and it takes a second for him to realize that he’s the shaky one. “Time.”

Understanding, Derek confirms, “You want some time alone?”

When Spencer nods, Derek leaves, but keeps the door open.

Open and unlocked, which means he isn’t back in his cell. There’s a window above his head, which means he isn’t in his cell. He’s not in a cell. He’s fine.

Keeping his knees bobbing from the balls of his feet, Spencer nods his head up and down, enjoying the rhythm he gets between the two. It feels nice, keeping his head moving, and Spencer doesn’t think that he’s going to be able to stop it any time soon.

He badly wants to bash his skull against the wall behind him, but Spencer knows that would cause Derek to come back, which he doesn’t want to happen. He wants to be alone, where he’s safe.

Safe and alone. He’ll be just fine, as long as he stays away from other people.

Eventually, Spencer’s nodding head slows down, until he’s left looking at the ceiling, head resting against the wall. With his leg still bouncing, Spencer takes some breaths.

Once he can finally think again, self loathing floods Spencer like a river and a broken dam. He feels so fucking supid, breaking down in the middle of the house, in front of his own godson. Spencer hates himself for it, and can’t do anything to stop the feeling.

As if one type of intrusive thoughts are replaced with another, suddenly hating himself is all Spencer can focus on. He hates it so much. For once in his life, Spencer wishes that his brain could just stop working, even for just a few minutes. He’d take even a few seconds of silence at this point.

Spencer stays, with his knees to his chest, for a long minute, thinking of all the things he hates about himself, before finally pulling his brain out of its stupor. There’s another problem though: he doesn’t even know what caused this.

No matter how hard he tries, Spencer can’t think of the trigger, which does nothing but send him back down into the spiral of hatred.

Fueled with anger at himself, Spencer forces himself to stand on the floor, tired of his useless body following his damaged brain. He’s fine. He’s an adult, and can handle this.

That being said, as soon as Spencer steps out of the bathroom, he feels his entire body go stiff, tormented at the thought of going back out to see the Morgans. Luckily, it doesn’t last too long.

In the blink of an eye, Derek leads him to the living room couch, a clear view of where Hank was playing. Now, the blocks and cars are on the carpet by themselves.

Swallowing, Spencer questions, “Hank?”

“Playin’ with Savannah outside,” Derek quickly supplies. “Don’t worry about him.”

How can he not? Still, Spencer nods.

“Take as much time as you need.” Derek adds, keeping his distance from Spencer once he had deposited the younger man on the couch. 

Spencer wishes, more than anything else, that he had his blankets. Then again, that’s probably the exact reason why Derek brought him out here, rather than the guest bedroom.

Speaking while his hands make motions, Spencer requests, “The- the-” Spencer cuts himself off with a frustrated huff at himself. Now is  _ not  _ the time to go non-verbal. Not that he has good times to go non-verbal, but it’s certainly not now.

However, Derek seems to think the opposite of Spencer’s brain. “It’s okay, kid. Take your time.”

Still angry at himself, Spencer just shakes his head.

When the shaking continues for half a minute, Derek muses, “I’m gonna go grab you a glass of water. You don’t have to drink it though,” He quickly adds on. “You don’t have to do anything right now, okay? You can just rest.”

Part of Spencer is so incredibly grateful for Derek’s words, yet the other part of him still hates himself for needing the reassurances. When Derek leaves his field of view, Spencer wraps his arms around his knees, compressing his body into a safe little ball. 

He halfway leans into the side of the couch, and lets his body sit there, even when the pressure against his forearm continues to rise. At some point, a glass of water is set on the coffee table in front of him, but Spencer doesn’t do anything with it.

His leg aches to bounce, even though it’s nearly impossible to do so in the position Spencer’s put himself in. Instead, he settles for tapping the underside of his legs, where his hands rest, criss crossing his arms.

It’s not the same, but it’s good enough for now. The only thing that could really fix this would be more layers, perhaps a pile of blankets to keep him safe, but Spencer knows that he’s not going to be able to get that.

Time continues to pass, and when he hears Savannah and Hank, he doesn’t have enough energy to pay attention to them.

Spencer lets his mind wander in its rather blank state, thinking of random facts and random tidbits he’s learned over the years. It’s surprisingly soothing. He manages to keep himself dissociated enough to stay trapped in his mind until Spencer finds himself in Derek’s car. He’s pressed up against the window in the passenger seat, just like earlier in the day.

Heart beating with worried anticipation, Spencer watches all of the blurry scenes go by.

The last time Spencer went to a therapist that wasn’t mandatory, was back when he was twenty five, when the nightmares never went away. Since then, he’s seen one of the numerous FBI psychologists many times, but they were all mandatory, two one-hour appointments. They were only used for confirmation that he could be in the field.

Even after Hankel, Spencer never saw anyone past the two appointments.

Spencer’s eidetic memory easily supplies what he missed while he was halfway stuck inside his own head. The therapist he’s going to is a good one. One that can be trusted. Hotch went to her after Haley and The Reaper, and Derek went to her after he left the BAU.

Despite the fact that both Derek and Hotch, some of the most sensible people in Spencer’s life trust her, he’s still weary. After all, his life has been a series of disappointing new people.

Unfortunately, he doesn’t have much time to muse on that fact, because he’s suddenly in a stopped car, in front of a building that’s easily categorized as a bunch of doctor’s offices stuffed together. All of the windows are perfectly symmetrical, and Spencer can tell that every office will be the exact same dimensions.

He sits in a waiting room on a chair that probably a hundred other people have sat on, filling out paperwork, questions about his health and insurance alike. If there’s one thing that’s good about working for the BAU, it’s the health insurance, Spencer supposes.

Despite what he wishes were the truth, Spencer answers all of the preliminary health questions truthfully. Yes, his family has a history of mental illness. No, he’s never been diagnosed before.

The questions get repetitive quickly, and not even Spencer can read through them fast enough to starve off his boredom. However, he does finish it far quicker than he thinks it was expected, because the man working the kiosk double checks that Spencer actually filled everything out. 

Spencer feels terrible in the waiting room full of bright lights, completely exposed to the world. He tries to stop himself from bouncing his leg in the office of a therapist, but it’s no use. Eventually, he gives up, and lets his leg bounce to his heart’s content.

It’s still not enough to soothe his nerves. At least he still has his extra sleep sweater and three layers of socks on. That’s got to count for something.

The couch in his new therapist’s office is blue, and the cushions don’t quite feel right. He can’t tell exactly what feels wrong about it, but it’s not very comfortable.

She scans his file for a few moments, before smiling. “Hi, Doctor Reid. I’m Delilah.”

Even though Spencer wants to keep his hands far, far away from the new woman, he still gives her a wave and an awkward, “Hi.”

“So,” She starts, “I went over your file a little bit, but before we get started, I just want to make sure that you’re comfortable, and you know what to expect.”

Spencer blinks, not exactly knowing how he should respond. “Okay?”

“Do you have any questions for me?”

“No,” Spencer shakes his head.

“Okay,” Delilah nods. “Why don’t you tell me a little bit about yourself?”

Out of all of the questions Spencer was expecting, this catches him off guard. He’s never been good at talking about himself. Unlike other topics, he can’t ramble about facts when it comes to his own mind. “I don’t- don’t know what to say,”

“That’s alright,” Delilah easily picks up. “Do you have any hobbies you enjoy?”

That could be categorized as a fact. Spencer can handle that. “Chess. And reading.”

“What have you been reading, recently?” She guides the conversation, and Spencer feels a bit less anxious than he did a second ago.

“Mostly academic papers, but I’ve been getting back into Vonnegut lately.”

“Yeah?” Delilah nods. “I remember reading Vonnegut back in highschool, but I’ll admit that I don’t remember much.”

Spencer awkwardly smiles, grateful for her attempts to keep the conversation calm.

“Is there anything you want me to know, before we get into the nitty gritty stuff?” She questions, still with a quiet voice. Delilah talks faster than Umar, which Spencer appreciates.

“Not really.” Spencer truthfully answers.

Delilah nods, “Okay. Why don’t we start with why you decided to meet with me,”

Looking down, Spencer confesses, “It wasn’t really my decision.”

Delilah is unfazed. “Did a friend or family member push you into going to therapy?”

“I- yeah. I guess. It was basically a choice of this or an FBI psychologist.”

“Have you talked to an FBI psychologist before?”

“Yeah,”

“And you didn’t like it?” Delilah presumes.

Pushing his lips to one side, Spencer admits, “I guess not.”

“Okay,” After a quick nod, Delilah asks, “And was it your boss that urged you to go to therapy?”

“Unit Chief,” Spencer corrects, before he can stop himself. “Yes.”

“Oh, right,” Delilah chuckles, “I remember. Derek brought you here, right? I remember a few things about the FBI that he had told me.”

“Yeah,”

Smiling, she continues her questioning, “Who’s your Unit Chief?”

“Emily Prentiss,”

“Are you happy about her decision to request you to go to counseling?”

With a frown, Spencer replies, “I understand why she did it.”

They both know that he’s avoiding the question, but Delilah doesn’t press it. “So, why don’t you tell me a little bit about why your Chief wanted you to go to therapy?”

“My clothes,” Spencer answers, because he doesn’t really know what else to say.

Delilah cocks her head to the side, “What do you mean?” 

“I suffered from heat exhaustion,” Spencer quietly begins, looking anywhere but her face. “Because of my clothes.”

“Okay,” She nods, writing down a few things, setting Spencer on edge. “Well,” Delilah sucks in a breath, “Do you know why you were wearing enough clothes to cause heat exhaustion?”

“I guess?”

“And what is that?”

Biting his lip, Spencer answers, “For protection.”

“Protection of what?”

“I don’t know,” Spencer admits. “Everything?”

To Delilah’s credit, she doesn’t seem very bothered by the rather vague answers. “Have you had bad experiences when you weren’t wearing as many clothes as you usually do?”

“I,” Spencer frowns, “You could say that, yes.”

“Being in the FBI isn’t easy,” Delilah starts, and Spencer looks up from confusion at the seemingly sudden topic change. “I can imagine that you go through things that no one else has. And it’s only natural that some of those things can leave scars, not just physically, but also mentally.”

“What are you saying?”

Taking a deep breath, Delilah questions, “My guess is that you’ve gone through some pretty traumatic things in the FBI, correct?”

Spencer nods.

“When we, as humans, go through a traumatic event, our brains find new ways to cope with it. For you,” Delilah adds, motioning to Spencer’s form, “Wearing clothes probably helped you cope with whatever you went through.”

“I guess,”

Nodding, Delilah continues, “The only problem is now your brain is overcompensating, and now you’re wearing too many clothes. Correct me if I’m wrong?”

Making a few silent connections, Spencer replies, “It keeps me safe.”

“I know that it feels that way,”

“Because it’s true.” Spencer claims, moving his hands under his thighs.

“Because your brain is trying to work a little too hard.” Delilah corrects him. “I want to make sure that you feel safe mentally, while still being healthy physically.”

Spencer’s silent for a few moments, before insisting, “I don’t want to take off any of my layers.”

“I’m not going to make you.” Delilah quickly confirms. “If you’re not in any physical danger, I don’t want to be taking your safety blanket away from you. I want to work with you, until you feel safe enough to do so yourself.”

Scrunching his nose, Spencer frowns. Part of him doesn’t want to get better, but instead just live with the clothes on his back forever. He doesn’t want to think about going out wearing only one layer, because he knows it wouldn’t be safe.

“How do you feel about that?” Delilah asks when Spencer doesn’t say anything.

He reiterates, “I don’t want to take off any of my layers.”

“I understand. We’ll work with that.” When Spencer doesn’t respond, Delilah sets her notes down on the desk, before turning to face him. “I know that the beginning of our sessions are going to be a lot of nitty gritty things, and so I’d like to mix in a bit of easier things to talk about, especially because you’re not too familiar with long term counseling.”

“Okay?” Spencer doesn’t exactly know what she’s referring to, but he doesn’t ask.

“I don’t know much about you,” Delilah starts, “Just like you don’t know much about me. Therapy is a lot easier if we’re both comfortable with each other, and I think it’d be nice if we could learn a bit about each other. I’ll start.” Putting her hand to her chest, Delilah continues, “I’m Delilah, my wife’s name is Taylor, and we have two kids, who are seven and ten years old. Outside of work, I do a lot of watercolor paintings.”

Spencer blinks a few times, before settling on, “I’ve never painted,”

“It’s fun,” Delilah smiles. “Can you tell me a little about yourself?”

“I don’t know what to say,”

“Anything is good.”

“I have three PhDs,” Spencer starts with a swallow. “And I have four other master’s degrees, and two independent bachelor’s.”

Nodding, Delilah asks, “I assume you enjoy academia?”

“Very much so. I went to college when I was twelve.”

“How was it, as a twelve year old? I can only assume that you didn’t have too many peers.” She points out.

Pulling his hands from under his thighs, Spencer answers, “It was good. I double majored in three years, in engineering and chemistry.”

“Outside of classes, how was college?” Before Spencer has time to reply, Delilah expands, “What’s something in college that I couldn’t learn from your FBI file?”

Spencer’s face pulls a silent frown, thinking back on his perfect memory. It isn’t often that he’s asked about his childhood that didn’t have to do with his brain. Eventually, he settles on, “I went to the mall.”

“Was it a mall that you had never been to, before?”

“I had never been to any malls before that,” Spencer replies. “One of my friends took me. She bought me a pretzel. There was cheese sauce that didn’t really taste like cheese.”

Nodding, Delilah agrees, “Food courts sell rather interesting types of food, don’t they?” After Spencer’s smile, she asks, “Who was the friend that took you?”

“Mari.” Spencer answers. “I don’t think she knew that I had never gone shopping before. Although I think she figured it out halfway through.”

“I’m glad that you had a friend that took you to the mall,” Delilah fondly muses. “Are you okay if I ask you a question geared toward our therapy?”

As an answer, Spencer admits, “I can only imagine you’re waiting for a good segway to do so.”

Delilah chuckles, “That’s fair. I suppose therapists are fairly predictable.” Face turning serious, she questions, “In college, were you wearing lots of clothes?”

“With Mari, not really.” Spencer answers.

“And when you were away from Mari, did you wear more clothes?”

“I guess so.”

“Did you feel safer with her around?”

Spencer doesn’t have to think twice before he answers, “Yes.”

“Before you went to college, did you wear lots of clothes?”

“Yes.”

Nodding, Delilah asks, “Was there anyone that you felt safe around?”

Spencer opens his mouth to say his mom, but he stops short. He remembers the days where Diana cursed him for stealing her books, backhanding him across the face. He remembers the day where she would hold onto Spencer’s wrist for dear life, fingers leaving bruises. “I guess,”

With raised eyebrows, Delilah points out, “That didn’t sound very confident,”

“I had my mom.”

“Did you feel safe around her?”

“Yes.” He answers confidently this time, even if it’s partially a lie.

Nodding, even though she doesn’t look convinced, Delilah questions, “Did you have anyone else you felt safe around?”

“I guess not,”

“And so you wore extra clothes to compensate.” She connects the dots.

It feels so monumentally stupid, when Delilah says it like that.

He was a fucked up kid in a fucked up world, and instead of doing anything about it, all Spencer did was wear clothes. He gets abandoned, hurt, and assaulted, yet his brain didn’t do anything useful, other than tell him to wear clothes.

Spencer knows that he has a plethora of mental disorders just waiting to be diagnosed, but all he does to help himself is wear more clothes. It sounds so idiotic. 

“Yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing Hank is honestly so much fun, you guys have no idea haha. I officially don't have any chapters or half chapters on the back burner anymore, but I think I can still do the updates every three days, so no need to worry! I've been having honestly so much fun writing the past few weeks, so I think I'll be able to stay with my update schedule. Also- I've begun to work on my original novel more, which I took a break from after I started writing Criminal Minds a few months ago, which has been fun for me too! It's very strange, going from Spencer to my characters- they're very, very different xD
> 
> Also I don't really like how I ended this chapter, but, you know. It happened. And it was already like 6.3k words sooooooooooo yehhhh I'm a lazy author lol
> 
> I hope you all have a wonderful Sunday (or whatever day that you're reading this), and I'll see you on the eighteenth!!


	8. I Just Need a Bit of Space

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How many times will Spencer need to learn that the only way he can stay safe is when his armor is surrounding him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Hi! Exciting news: This chapter is the one that passes 50k words, which means that I'm a NaNoWriMo winner this year!! This is the first time that I'm a winner, and I finished like halfway through the month- which is freaking w i l d haha. 
> 
> Thank you so much for all of your support- I wouldn't be able to do this without you guys!!
> 
> Aaaaannndddd here's an angst filled chapter that will make you o.O

Although Spencer enjoys all of the Morgans, there’s something about dinner that just irks him. He’s never had a family to sit down and have dinner with, all around the table, telling stories of their days, so it feels wrong to Spencer.

Hank babbles on about his cars and blocks in between bites, at his mother’s insistence to not talk with food in his mouth. While Hank isn’t speaking, Savannah talks about her shift in the ER, grumbling about certain patients, whilst keeping them anonymous at the same time. Silently, Spencer listens to Derek talk about the house he’s going to work on tomorrow, complaining about the strange piping, stopping him from knocking down certain walls.

Throughout the entire meal, Spencer keeps his leg bouncing, doing anything to distract him from an itch in his brain. He knows that there’s something threatening to escape through his chest, probably in the form of a panic attack, but Spencer won’t let that happen. He already panicked earlier today, before therapy, and he doesn’t want to again.

Spencer’s the last one to finish, and despite what Derek tells him, he still helps with the dishes. Everything still feels wrong.

In the sink, there’s actual plates and bowls, other than a plethora of coffee mugs. The couch is lived in, instead of only a single cushion being lumpy. The blinds from the living room windows let light in, illuminating each little crevice around the coffee table. 

It’s worse in the night, when the lights are all inside the house. It’s a simple fact that when there’s more light on the other side of the glass, it’s easier to see in. Which, unfortunately, means that anyone and everyone could look inside of the Morgan house, seeing not only Spencer, but also Hank.

Logically, Spencer knows that Derek already thought of these things, and already knows that he can trust his neighbors, but Spencer can’t shake the thought. So many things could go wrong. It only takes one look for a stalker to become enamoured with their victims, and it only takes a single glance for a pedophile to pick a child.

When Derek comments on Spencer’s form, shoulders pulled tight, Spencer just waves him off, giving a weak excuse. Savannah must notice it too, but she doesn’t say anything. Turning himself away from the window, Spencer awkwardly watches his godson play with his toy cars, making race tracks around the rug.

As the sun sets, Derek declares it “bed time,” taking Hank upstairs to his room, even when the young boy complains that he’s old enough to stay up late. He asks for bedtime kisses from Savannah and Spencer, and although she complies, Spencer sends a worried glance toward Derek, who quickly makes an excuse to his son.

Although he still harbors feelings of guilt, Spencer’s grateful to not have to get close to Hank. Things go wrong when he’s near children, that’s just a fact of the world. That’s the real Reid Effect.

While Derek and Hank are upstairs, Savannah offers him a glass of water, and asks, “How was your first day here? Was the guest room okay last night?”

Nodding, Spencer quickly insists, “It was good. Everything’s good.”

“Uh huh,” Savannah glances at him, unconvinced. “Is that why you’re looking like you’re about to explode with tension?”

“I’m just, I don’t know,” Spencer bites his lip, “Not good with change, I guess.”

With a sympathetic nod, Savannah notes, “That makes sense,”

Spencer glances at her for a split second, before looking back down at the floor. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you’re autsitic, right?”

Confused, Spencer questions, “Did Morgan tell you?”

With a smile, she points out, “I’ve gone through over a decade of medical school and spend the majority of my days treating patients. I know what autism looks like.”

Spencer frowns at the words for a few moments before deciphering her metaphor. She can’t actually see a mental disorder, but she can tell what it is by his traits. “Oh.”

“We don’t have to talk about it,” Savannah quickly adds, “If it’s making you uncomfortable.”

“No,” Spencer shakes his head. “It’s okay. I’ve just never really talked about it with anyone before.” He admits.

Nodding, Savannah notes, “Let me know if there’s anything I can help with?”

“Okay.” Spencer continues to look down, memorizing the lines on his hands. Although he’d like to stim and he knows Savannah wouldn’t judge him for it, Spencer doesn’t. The calm voice of Gideon pops into his head, reminding him that the world will torture him.

_ “...there are certain things in the world that you may be ridiculed for, even if it’s an asset, not a deficit.” _

If only Spencer knew how true those wise words actually were. As if it were yesterday, Spencer still remembers sitting with Gideon after graduating from the academy quite clearly. He’d always worshiped Gideon, especially at that age, but Spencer didn’t pay enough attention to that single bit of advice. It could’ve saved his life if Spencer followed it.

The world takes everything, and finds a way to make it negative, finds a way to torture Spencer with it. And Gideon, of all people, warned him of this fact. 

For the rest of the night, Spencer keeps his arms wrapped around his middle, determined to keep himself safe, even from the people that he trusts. Even though he has a few layers on, it’s not enough to protect him. Especially not from a surprise via the Morgans.

Spencer doesn’t contribute much to the idle conversations, but instead keeps an eye out for every shadow that walks past the window, for every car driving down the road. Neither Derek nor Savannah get worried when headlights soar through the blinds, and if they see Spencer tense, they don’t say anything.

Multiple times during the evening, Spencer has to remind himself to unclench his jaw, but after a certain amount of time, he just gives up, keeping his jaw locked between his molars. Every little thing feels like it’s about to set him off, and he can’t do anything to stop it.

In an instant, Spencer declares that he’s going to bed, and doesn’t turn to see the confused faces of Savannah and Derek. As he walks up the stairs, Spencer can see the colorful rays from Hank’s night light, and he pauses for a split second to watch it go through the rainbow.

Just like the previous night, Spencer keeps the guest room door open, but soon finds that it’s nearly impossible to focus like that. Even if all he needs to focus on is sleeping. Burrowing underneath the blankets, Spencer curses himself for untucking the fitted sheet the previous night.

Because now, Derek will know what to look out for. If Spencer had waited until tonight, he might’ve been able to get away with it for a few more nights, or even weeks, if he was smart enough to tuck it back by the time morning came.

In the quiet night, Spencer hears Derek’s and Savannah’s feet both padding up the stairs to their rooms, and like a teenager sneaking out, Spencer waits until they stop to close the door of the guest room. Although then again, he supposes that most teenagers would be sneaking out of the room, not the opposite.

With his two extra layers of socks and the weighted blanket, Spencer feels a bit better sleeping on the bed this night. Still, he pulls the covers over his head, and lets his body relax. His jaw unclenches, and his thrumming fingers finally stop for a few moments.

Letting his rib cage expand to its fullest extent, Spencer takes a deep breath. His lungs honestly feel strange after not breathing deeply for so long, and Spencer takes a few more deep breaths. Afterward, Spencer drags up his legs to his chest, and wraps his arms around them.

Safe. That’s how he feels: Safe. Finally, Spencer is safe. He stays under the covers as long as he dares, and then even a little bit past when it starts being difficult to breathe.

Street lamps and moonlight alike shine through the curtains, making Spencer wish that he had his own fabric to cover the windows. He knows that a decade ago, the light falling through the window would’ve comforted him, and would’ve been a reminder that he’s not alone.

Now though, it’s only a reminder that the world is full of wicked things and wicked people, always watching him, ready to strike. With the blankets drawn up past his mouth but not over his nose, Spencer watches the open window, suspicious that something will go wrong.

At some point, Spencer can hear Cloony’s nails scrape across the wooden part of the downstairs floor, and Spencer lets his wandering mind follow the noise. The distraction works to pull him from his own brain for a few seconds, but as soon as Cloony stops moving, he’s stuck in his own brain, unable to escape.

Spencer’s already sweating from the heat, and he smells terrible after not showering for the past three days, and somehow that smell is enough to keep him occupied. It drives him a bit mad, but it’s better than the other things swirling through his mind.

With the putrid stench of himself, Spencer falls asleep.

Unsurprisingly, he dreams of Maeve again.

This time, she’s in the CalTech library.

“Hi, Spencer,” She greets with a smile, waving him down to a chair.

Looking around, Spencer wonders, “Why are you here? You’ve never been the CalTech,”

“This is a dream.” Maeve points out. “I can be wherever I want. Come, sit next to me,”

Spencer obliges, sliding down into the wooden chair next to her. It feels the exact same as when he was a child, studying electrical engineering at the ripe age of fourteen. The only thing missing is Mari and the fountain pen she gave Spencer.

As per usual, Spencer spends most of the dream taking in Maeve’s appearance. He never got to see her, for all her worth, in real life. Half of his visual memory of Maeve is a puddle of blood, and Spencer’s grateful that this dream doesn’t include that.

Tonight, Maeve’s hair is a deep red, far too vibrant to be natural. She doesn’t have bangs either, even though Spencer knows that she did in real life. 

After taking a few moments, Spencer questions, “Why is no one else here?”

“Where? In the library?” Maeve questions. When Spencer nods, she easily replies, “It’s your dream, Spencer. If you’d like more people, you could always add them in.”

With a hollow sigh, Spencer points out, “I’m not that good at lucid dreaming.”

“You used to be,” She replies, even though Spencer knows that the real Maeve had never been told about Spencer’s lucid dreaming. “When did that change?”

“In prison,” Spencer answers. “I lost control of everything, which apparently included my dreams.” Even now, it feels like he hasn’t quite gotten his control back.

Maeve reaches out to grab Spencer’s hand, and he lets it happen. “Do you want the control back?”

Without missing a beat, Spencer replies, “Of course.”

“Me too.” Maeve admits, squeezing Spencer’s hand.

When he looks down at himself, Spencer takes in his appearance. He’s wearing what he would wear in college: a jacket over a shirt, a single pair of pants, and only one pair of mismatched socks. It’s something he hasn’t worn in ages.

Unlike the rest of the world, Spencer doesn’t mind when it’s Maeve who’s touching him. It’s a strange phenomenon, given that Maeve is one of the people on Earth that’s never touched Spencer.

And one of the people on Earth that never will.

Maeve continues watching him, but she doesn’t make any comments. She doesn’t have any insights like the previous night, and seems content with just spending time with Spencer.

It’s strange, but Spencer doesn’t dislike it.

Time doesn’t pass in dreams like it should, so Spencer doesn’t know how long it takes for Maeve to speak up. It could’ve been a few seconds, or even a few days. “Do you think you’re ever going to do anything about your headaches?”

“They’re from stress.” Spencer answers, subconsciously reaching his free hand up to his temple, massaging it a bit. Is it even possible to get a headache during a dream?

“So you’re not going to try and fix it?”

“I didn’t say that,”

“But it’s what you meant.” Maeve counters with a look.

Sighing, Spencer replies, “They’re not as bad as they were before you,”

“You’re still in pain, though. Even if the severity isn’t the same.”

Spencer takes a few seconds to respond. “It’s not something that really bothers me. Or something that needs to be changed.”

With a frown, Maeve argues, “I think I’m going to have to disagree with you there, Doctor Reid. Pain always needs to be changed.”

“I’m used to it,” Spencer swallows. “I don’t want to waste any more time on my headaches. I’ve already spent too long on them, and I had already found a solution to them.”

Unamused, Maeve continues, “And then your ‘solution’ got shot in the head,”

“Maeve-”

“There’s more than one solution out there, Spencer.”

“But there’s not more than one you.”

Maeve shakes her head. “So what? You’re going to live with head pain for the rest of your life because you’re hoarding guilt from my death?”

Avoiding the claim, Spencer mutters, “I just don’t want to spend any more time on them.”

“Fair enough.” Maeve states, apparently done arguing.

Or more accurately, Spencer’s done arguing with himself. That’s all his dreams are, right? Just parts of Spencer’s brain arguing with the other parts?

Neither of them say anything for the rest of Spencer’s dream.

Maeve keeps her hand covering Spencer’s, occasionally running a comforting thumb over the sides of his knuckles. It feels so strange to be touched this way.

Although it’s been almost two years since Spencer was touched, it’s been far longer since he was touched so lovingly. Even with his memory, Spencer has to work to think back.

The last loving hug was from Derek.

JJ hugged him after prison, but it didn’t feel right. Even the softest of touches haven’t been right since prison. Friends have turned into villains the second their skin comes in contact with Spencer’s.

“You spend too much time thinking,” Maeve mutters, right as Spencer wakes up.

It’s still deep in the night, and the entire Morgan household is quiet, including the two year old and the dog. Spencer gets the feeling that’s not usually the case, but he’s grateful for it, nonetheless.

Breathing in and out a few times, Spencer forces himself to not tear off the fitted sheet like the previous night, and instead just pulls all of the covers around himself tightly. Even with the weighted blanket, the pressure does nothing to help his fear.

To be fair, that isn’t too surprising. That’s been the theme for the past few weeks of his life. Even piles of blankets and layers do nothing to help. On the plus side, he’s getting a solid four and a half hours of sleep, which is pretty good considering the rest of Spencer’s shit show of a life.

He ends up staying in bed, alternating between tucking his head underneath the covers, and pulling it back out to get precious air. If only his body didn’t need oxygen. If that were the case, then Spencer wouldn’t even bother to take himself out of his covers.

In a cave full of protection, Spencer wouldn’t ever leave. But the morning comes, and Spencer still hasn’t developed a way for his body to survive without oxygen.

Unlike the previous morning, Spencer gets up before Derek can say anything. It takes a bit of persuading to himself to move outside of his weighted blanket, but the extra socks certainly help. It doesn’t help enough though, based on the quick beating of his heart.

Hank gets cereal this morning, which is the equivalent of giving the little boy a handful of ricey projectiles. Cloony’s thrilled, but no one else really is.

Rather than asking, Derek sets a bowl in front of Spencer filled with cereal, and a determined look. With courage that Spencer didn’t think he had, he looks back at Derek with equal determination.

Despite the stand off, Spencer nibbles on a bit of cereal.

Although she’s on call, Savannah doesn’t have a shift for the entire day, which gives Derek time to work on one of the numerous houses he’s fixing up. Derek offers for Spencer to tag along, but the younger man declines.

Today, Hank’s weapon of choice (other than his cereal, of course) is a handful of crayons and a few sheets of printer paper. Spencer has plenty of facts about toddler development and drawing, but he thinks that Savannah probably wouldn’t appreciate them.

Spencer checks his phone, but there’s only a few messages, one from Emily, one from Luke, and three from JJ. Even though his thumb hovers over them, Spencer doesn’t build enough courage to open and reply.

After a few minutes of blankly staring at his lock screen, Spencer asks Savannah, “Can I take a shower?”

“Of course! Sorry, I should’ve pointed out the towels earlier-”

“It’s okay,” Spencer quickly soothes. “I didn’t want to earlier.” He probably should’ve though, based on the stench of, well, everything around him.

Leaving Cloony to watch Hank, Savannah quickly points out the towels of the upstairs bathroom, along with a rather large line of hair and body wash products.

Because Derek’s not around, Spencer knows he can get away with pulling multiple pairs of clothing from his suitcase. That being said, he waits until Savannah’s all of the way back downstairs. Just in case.

Spencer locks the bathroom door out of habit, before unlocking it a second later. He does it two more times, before forcing himself to step away from the handle.

He’s stuck in a cycle of not wanting anyone to have the ability to see Spencer in his weakest state, but desperately wanting to be able to leave the room by himself. It’s a mix of intrusive thoughts that create a horrific chemical reaction inside of his brain.

Swallowing, Spencer moves to take off his clothes, but he can’t find it in himself to do it. It’s going to be the first time since Texas that he’d have to remove his armor, and Spencer doesn’t think he’s going to be able to do it.

Without his protection, Spencer knows that the world is going to go after him, attacking him from all ends, determined to make his life hell. It’s just a fact. Everyone is going to tear him to pieces, the second his armor leaves his fragile body.

But it’s fine. Everything is fine, and Spencer is totally okay. He can do this. No one else is in the room, and nobody’s going to be able to see through the frosted glass window above his head. He’s safe in here.

To Spencer’s credit, he makes it about halfway. Off goes his sweatshirt, and then his shirt, before the bottom layer of his sleep sweater. It’s been days since Spencer was this exposed, but he tries not to think about that fact.

As per usual, Spencer keeps his eyes straight ahead, not paying attention to his body which so desperately needs it. Spencer knows that he’ll be pale, far too pale, with his ribs jutting out at awkward angles, but he doesn’t dare look down.

Swallowing down bile threatening to rise, Spencer hooks his hands over the waistband of his pants and pulls them down. It’s fine. Everything’s fine. The back of his right foot gets caught on his jeans, and out of nothing but instinct, Spencer looks down to see where his foot is caught.

It all happens in an instant. His eidetic memory catalogues every single ridge and every single inch of skin on his chest, before he can stop it. Visions of his exposed body race through his mind, and Spencer knows he’s never going to be able to forget it.

Seeing it makes it all too real. He’s exposed to the world, just like he was when he was in highschool, just like he was with Hankel. The wicked people in the world are going to take advantage of him in his weakened state, Spencer just knows that to be the truth. And the worst part of it all, is that Spencer can’t do anything about it.

He’s already exposed, and the world is already aware of it. There’s nothing he can do.

Spencer can feel his anxiety rise from his stomach into his chest, before growing and growing, blocking out any change of rational thoughts or normal breathing.

Everything is going to go wrong, and it’s all Spencer’s fault.

He turns around, mind and body full of anxiety, before falling completely still. Spencer’s reflection looks back at him through the mirror, eyes wide with fear.

It’s been years since Spencer’s looked at himself in the mirror, and he doesn’t know what to do. What should he focus on? The informities on his face, or maybe the bags underneath his eyes? Or should he be looking further down, down to his chest, where his ribs stick out, shadows cascading beneath them. A sunken stomach that screams ‘sickness,’ or maybe his iliac crests, pressing against the thin layer of skin like they’re about to escape.

Spencer hasn’t seen his body like this in ages.

And he hates it.

It’s a horrific reminder that he’s weak, that the world will eat him up if given the change. After all, it’s happened before, multiple times. So really, what’s once more? 

Seeing his reflection just tells Spencer that he was never meant for this world and all of the wicked people it holds. He’s not strong enough to get through it all without his armor. He’s nothing more than a bug, waiting to be crushed, without his protection.

Emotions bubble up and Spencer doesn’t know what they mean. He doesn’t have enough brain power to make sense of them, and for the time being, Spencer doesn’t even care.

Before Spencer even knows what he’s doing, he draws back his fist, hitting his reflection square in the face. It makes some of the emotions go away, but then it just adds in new ones. Spencer hits himself again through the mirror, hoping that this will somehow hide him from the world. Because without his reflection, there’s only one Spencer to attack, rather than two.

Through his panicked, heavy breaths, Spencer hears Savannah. “Spencer?”

Spencer doesn’t think he can reply, so he doesn’t even try. Instead, he watches tiny streams of blood flow down his knuckles and hand. He’s mezmorized, and doesn’t even mind that fact, because it stops him from panicking.

Savannah opens the door, and Spencer must know how delirious he looks.

Standing in front of a mirror with only his boxers and three pairs of socks on, watching his red fist, without even moving to staunch the blood. His chest tightens knowing that someone is seeing him without his armor. Completely helpless.

Slowly, Savannah questions, “Spencer?”

With wide eyes, he takes a step further into the bathroom, closer to the window, but away from the other person. When the single step doesn’t help him, Spencer takes another, and one more after that.

Looking between him and the mirror, Savannah quickly deduces what happened. Swallowing, she asks, “Spencer, can I see your hand?”

Part of him wants to scream that Savannah’s already seeing all of him, already seeing far too much of him, but Spencer doesn’t. Instead, he cradles his hand to his chest, ignoring the fact that he’s spreading his blood. 

Savannah takes a step forward, and Spencer scrambles back, heels hitting the far wall. Fear chokes him, trapped in a room with someone who wants to attack him. Spencer doesn’t have any of his armor, and there’s no way he can escape.

He glances at the pile of clothes on the ground, but it’s too close to Savannah, and Spencer doesn’t dare try to snatch them. He’s stuck on the back wall, unable to help himself.

“Spencer,” Savannah tries again, “I need to see your hand. You’re bleeding, okay?”

Of course he’s bleeding. That’s what happens when there are shards of glass on the back of his hand. Still, Spencer would rather have the blood covering his hand then nothing. It’s not a thick layer like his clothes were, but it’s at least something that’s not pure skin being shown off to the world.

When Savannah takes another step forward, Spencer feels his breath catch in his chest. “No,” He whispers, even though he wanted it to be a shout.

“You’re bleeding,” She points out again. “I’m not going to hurt you, okay? I just- I just want to help you.”

Spencer can hear the lie from a mile away. Nobody has wanted to help Spencer, not since he was ten years old when William left. And when he’s in a weak position like this? Spencer knows that Savannah’s after him. “Please don’t,”

Shaking her head, Savannah tells him, “I can’t leave you here. You’re hurt and bleeding.”

Without a good response, Spencer is stuck with his quick breaths, knowing full well that in a second it’s going to turn into hyperventilating.

“Spencer, I’m going to take a step forward, okay?”

“No!”

Sucking in a breath, Savannah looks up to the ceiling, thinking of a plan. “Would it be easier if you put on clothes first?” She has no problem treating a patient without clothes, she hasn’t since residency, but she’s aware of Spencer’s situation. Despite that, Savannah knows it isn’t ideal for someone with glass in their hands to dress themselves, but there isn’t much else she can do.

With a glance toward his clothes, Spencer nods. Savannah takes a step back, but she doesn’t leave the room, setting Spencer on edge even more than he was before.

Snatching his shirts, Spencer puts all three on, hiding his body, ignoring the face that he’s gotten blood all over them. Awkwardly, Spencer puts his pants back on, trying to look anywhere but Savannah and his own body.

“Can I look at your hand, now?”

“No.” Spencer answers before he can stop himself. The answer is no. Nobody can look at Spencer, and nobody can take advantage of him.

Taking in a breath, Savannah doesn’t give up. “Spencer, you’re still bleeding, and I’m getting worried. I don’t want you to get hurt even more.” When he doesn’t respond, Savannah takes a step forward.

With nowhere else to go, Spencer’s only option is to stare at her, eyes wide in fear. “Please don’t touch me,”

“Spencer,” Savannah starts, voice full of sadness, “I’m going to have to,”

“Please don’t.” Spencer knows how broken his voice sounds. He remembers looking at Tobias, begging him to leave him alone. “Please,”

“Spencer, I’m sorry. I have to take a look at your hand. If not me, then someone at the hospital,” She adds, wincing as she points it out. “I can make this easier though, okay?”

Although Spencer doesn’t audibly reply, he does blink up at her.

Motioning underneath the sink, Savannah continues, “I’m going to go into the cabinet here, okay? And I’m going to grab some gloves. I won’t even be touching you. It’ll just be latex.”

Heart thumping in his chest, Spencer watches as Savannah does exactly what she promised. The blue gloves make a terrible noise when she puts them on, but Spencer knows that they’re better than the alternative.

When she’s done, Savannah quietly states, “I need to see your hand now, okay?”

Shakily, Spencer withdraws his fist from his chest. Nearly every other inhale, his breath catches, and Spencer knows he’s not taking in as much oxygen as he should be. The worst part is, Spencer knows he can’t do anything about it.

Like a child in a doctor’s office, Spencer clenches his eyes shut and grinds his molars when Savannah’s fingers turn over his hand. Gently, she pushes back a bit of the sweatshirt cuff, and Spencer instantly pulls his hands back.

He can’t do this. He can’t do this.

_ He can’t do this. _

“Spencer, I need to help you, you’re hurt.”

Without opening his eyes, Spencer shakes his head. It feels nice, and he continues to shake his head, letting part of his brain get distracted with his stimming. After nearly a minute has passed, he gives his hand back, still without looking.

Spencer can feel the gloved hand on his knuckles, and he hates it, more than anything. There’s a thousand things Spencer can think of that he’d rather be doing, yet he can’t do anything to stop this.

There’s absolutely nothing he can do. Spencer is trapped in this cell of a bathroom, helpless without his armor, and he can’t fix it. The only thing he can do is sit and try and ignore the world around him. 

Thinking is the only thing that Spencer can do, and even that’s a detriment to himself at the moment. Cracking open his eyes, he focuses on a single spot on the floor and does his very best to dissociate.

It doesn’t come as quick and easy as he wants it to, but it’s certainly better than feeling every single thing that Savannah does. In the back of his mind, Spencer knows that Savannah is going to town with a pair of tweezers, plucking out shards of mirror, but he pushes that away.

“Spencer?”

Blinking, he sees Savannah tearing off her gloves, looking at him with concerned eyes. Rather than pay attention, Spencer peers down at his hand, looking at the gauze now covering the top. Although he isn’t happy about how it happened, Spencer’s still glad to have a bit more protection over his body.

“Spencer?” When he still doesn’t respond, Savannah continues, “I’m going to go check on Hank, okay? You can stay here if you’d like, or come downstairs, or go back in your room. Anything is okay. Whatever makes you feel the best.” She pauses before turning around, hoping that Spencer will say anything.

Even after she leaves, he stays perfectly still, looking at his hand. Suddenly, he can’t tear his eyes off of it. Experimentally, Spencer opens and closes his hands, watching with a childlike awe as his fingers expand outward and curl back in. 

His hand doesn’t hurt, but Spencer’s pretty sure that’s due to his brain. Once he’s able to escape it, he’s confident that the pain will appear. For now though, Spencer’s content to just sit without feeling anything. It’s as if his brain has just taken a quick break from reality.

Spencer doesn’t mind.

The back of his mind can hear things downstairs, but not enough for Spencer to know what’s happening. The only thing he’s aware of is the gauze over his hands. Expanding his barriers out a bit, Spencer feels the rest of his clothes on his back. 

Safe. That’s what that means. When there are clothes, he has protection. His heart has protection from the rest of the world. Charles and Tobias can’t get to him here, just like Alexa and Harper can’t. With his protection, he’s safe.

Like a mantra, Spencer repeats it over and over to himself. He’s safe. Nobody can reach him in here, because he has his armor to protect him. The soles of feet have three layers between themselves and the world, which means they won’t be attacked.

The wicked people of the world can’t get to him.

He’s safe.

The gauze on his hand doesn’t just cover up the cuts over his knuckles, but also the wounds in his soul. He’s safe. Sinking into his sweatshirt until the neck reaches his chin, Spencer takes a deep breath. He’s safe.

Spencer sees the mirror to the side of him, but isn’t scared of it anymore. The mirror won’t highlight any of Spencer’s insides, because he’s safe with his armor. There won’t be anyone to see him at his weakest state when his clothes are on.

He’s safe.

Spencer takes a deep breath, all of the way through his chest, and finally lets his brain take in the oxygen he’d been neglecting from it. Spencer is good. Spencer is safe.

And he won’t ever take off his armor again. Like the promise he’s told to himself so many times over, Spencer knows it to be true. When he takes off his armor, bad things happen, that’s just a fact. So we won’t ever take them off again.

By now, Spencer should’ve learned. When his armor comes off, terrible things occur. The only way to stop it from happening is by keeping his armor off. Really, it was childish for him to think that he’d be safe enough to take a shower in a new place.

Especially with a mirror and a window, Spencer knew that something would’ve gone wrong had he even made it into the shower. Although he feels bad for breaking the mirror, Spencer can’t imagine what would’ve happened if he had gotten far enough to take all of his clothes off.

It feels like it’s been ages since he hasn’t worn socks, when in reality it was only a few days ago in the hospital. His socks were torn off, and Spencer’s entire body was revealed to the world. He shudders with the thought that it could’ve happened again had he made it into the shower.

How many times doesn’t Spencer have to learn his lesson? He can’t take off his armor. Spencer will never take off his armor. Never. Again.

But how many times will he have to make that promise to himself? More importantly, how many times will he break it?

Spencer knows how close he was to fully breaking the promise once again, which scares him more than he thinks it has the right to. Letting the sleeves of his sweatshirt fall over his hands, Spencer stands up. Facing away from the mirror, he leaves the bathroom, heart intact.

Although it was a close call, Spencer knows that he made it out just fine. 

The path from the bathroom to the guest room is short, and he’s grateful for that fact. The second he steps inside, Spencer closes the door, making sure that nobody’s prying eyes will be able to get to him. Spencer double checks the curtains, ensuring that they’re hiding as much light as possible.

He then digs through his suitcase, pulling out a rather large pair of sweatpants, putting them over the pants he’s already wearing. Spencer sighs of relief. He’s going to be just fine.

None of the wicked people will be able to touch him, and no part of the world is going to find him in a weak state. When Spencer pulls his weighted blanket over his shoulders, he’s sure of that fact. The world won’t ever see through his soul.

The pain in his hand starts to appear, but Spencer doesn’t mind it. All it’s doing is serving as a reminder to why he should never take off his armor. It’s a simple way to tell Spencer what happens when he dares to take off his armor. Cuts on his hand would only be the tip of the iceberg if all of his layers were removed.

Broken people with their broken minds would prove to Spencer just how broken they are, if he took off his armor. And after they’d do their best to give Spencer a fractured mind, they’d go after Hank, Spencer’s sure of that.

Hank’s a child, simply waiting for the world to take away his innocence, just like it does to everyone else. If the world and its wicked people are able to reach Spencer, then they’re able to reach Hank, and he can’t- he won’t- let that happen.

Pain prickles across his knuckles, rising from an itch to a burn, and he welcomes it. Because it’s all just a reminder. A simple peek at what’s going to happen if he takes more of his armor off.

Spencer layers the blankets over his body, but not before tearing off the fitted sheet. After such a close brush with the rest of the wicked world, Spencer hides away underneath all of his blankets, just like he’s done before.

Because never once has he been attacked when he’s had his armor on, and certainly not when he had blankets over him. The protections partly for his mind, sure, but Spencer knows for a fact that it’s also protecting his body.

He made a promise to himself, and broke it multiple times. He won’t ever break it again, though. Nothing is going to make him break this promise. Nothing.

Underneath all of the layers, Spencer thinks back to his twelve year old self, tied and bound to a yellow goal post without his armor. And he makes a new promise to himself, a new promise to little Spencer.

Spencer promises himself that he’s going to protect himself from the things he couldn’t as a child. He’s thirty seven years old, but Spencer’s finally going to start protecting himself, this time without any exceptions.

And as the sweat prickles his body from all sides, Spencer welcomes it. It means that he’s succeeding.

Spencer’s going to be safe, forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohohoho Spencer is one (1) fucked up guy...  
> I've been having a lot of fun writing this, and I'm very excited to continue sharing Spencer's story! Just because I finished NaNo doesn't mean that I'm taking a break from this story! I'm going to continue to write and write because I love it :D
> 
> Next chapter will be on the 21st :D


	9. I'm Going to Take A Deep Breath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite the loathing thought of doing so, Spencer communicates with the rest of his team.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I hope everyone's doing well! Sorry for the fact that this is uploaded a few hours later than usual- I literally slept for like 11 hours last night and woke up late xD
> 
> Anyway- I hope you enjoy this chapter! :D

Spencer feels his anxiety in his stomach.

He knows, from copious amounts of research, that many people experience anxiety in their chest. They feel their heart thud in their chest, but that’s not to say that Spencer doesn’t. Sure, he still feels the incessant beating that never seems to cease, but it’s not the main thing.

Instead, Spencer feels his stomach coil up, as if his small intestine were wrapping itself around his organs. He doesn’t get nauseous, per say, but at the same time, he’s not  _ not  _ nauseous. The feeling reminds him of being on a twisted roller coaster, going far too fast for comfort. Like he’s dropping from a hundred feet and has reached terminal velocity, forcing all of his insides into a freefall themselves.

Huddling underneath the blankets helps with the feeling though. It helps in a way that Spencer will never be able to understand. But that’s okay, because if there’s one thing he’s learned from Diana, it’s that his emotions don’t need to make sense to other people. However, it would be nice if he could make sense of them himself.

When he’s alone in his bed, sometimes Spencer can trick himself into believing that he’s alone in the world. Not as a dreary thought, but as a comforting one. When he’s alone, he can’t get hurt. It’s a simple fact of life. Nobody’s going to attack him if they don’t even exist in the first place.

Spencer’s had anxiety since he was little, but he’s somehow avoided to acknowledge the fact that it’s been steadily getting worse for the past two decades. To be fair to himself, he did at least try to get some help when he started getting nightmares.

Although looking back at it, the nightmares he got when was twenty-five is nothing compared to the hell that he goes through every night. The problem is that they’re not even nightmares. They’re not the ones that he wakes up screaming-

Well.

Some of them are.

But the majority of Spencer’s dreams are just that: Dreams. And it scares him, more than anything else in the world.

Ever since Spencer was little, he’s been able to lucid dream. Spencer managed to start simple, being able to control little bits of life, and in highschool, Spencer was able to fly in his dreams for the first time.

Even when the nightmares started when he joined the BAU, his normal dreams were still controllable. He’d wake up from the terror, and the next night he’d get to control everything.

Now though, he’s completely helpless. Spencer knows that he’s dreaming, he can feel it in his bones. He can’t do anything about it though. The fake world passes through his own brain, and Spencer can’t change it.

He can’t mold it to his wants, and he can barely control his own thoughts in the landscape. It’s absolutely terrifying to Spencer. The one thing that he’s had control over in his insane life would be his brain. And now that’s gone.

He’s long passed the general cutoff for schizophrenia, and although there’s still the chance of late onset schizophrenia, it’s less common for males. Of course, he now has a new fear to fill the space. Alzheimer’s plagues his thoughts far more often than he’d like to admit.

Despite the fact that it’s not a being, Spencer still hides from it.

He layers his socks to keep a mental illness away, which is something that would probably get him a diagnosis for one in the first place. It makes sense to Spencer though. Being able to hide is a fundamental part of human instincts.

Children, it’s always children, who are abused, learn to hide far better than their peers. Because they’ve learned that hiding protects them.

Spencer doesn’t think he’s been abused, but hiding still brings him a type of joy that he’s never going to be able to explain. It could easily be illustrated with the simple word of “safe,” but Spencer doesn’t think that it suits his exact emotions.

Saying that he’s safe just doesn’t cut it.

Underneath the blankets and through his sweatshirts, Spencer can feel the huff and puff of his lungs, complaining at the heat. He can feel his skin itching, begging Spencer to let it feel even a tiny bit of air.

Contrary to popular belief, Spencer isn’t inept when it comes to taking care of himself. It just isn’t the most important thing. Safety, even the idea of safety, comes first. It will always come first. Because if it doesn’t, then he’ll get hurt.

His stomach cramps, and Spencer winces. He’s far too close to heat exhaustion, and he knows his body is teetering on the edge. Ensuring that the door is closed, Spencer moves a few of the blankets away.

At first, it doesn’t feel like it makes any difference, but soon enough, he’s able to breathe a bit more easily. Physically, that is. Mentally, Spencer feels his chest tighten.

When Spencer pulls another blanket off of himself, he feels the familiar push and pull in his stomach, and a second later the thoughts all come flooding in. The knots in his abdomen seem to be the only precursor to his intrusive thoughts.

Spencer knows that removing the layers will ruin his thoughts, but he logically knows that he doesn’t have a choice at this point. What if Derek takes him back to the hospital?

He feels worse, lying on the bed with nothing over him, but Spencer deals with it. He’s used to his rather shitty thoughts, and if he tries his hardest, he can just pretend that it’s nothing.

Sometimes his knuckles give a burst of pain, but Spencer doesn’t mind. It just grounds him. If he has scabs, that means there’s one more thing covering his body.

Spencer’s left alone for minutes, maybe even hours, he loses track. But at some point, the door cracks open.

Exhausted, Spencer doesn’t do anything but awkwardly crane his neck to the side to see who’s greeted the doorframe. Unsurprisingly, it’s Derek. Loyal Derek, who always seemed to be there for Spencer. One of the few people that didn’t leave Spencer with a token and nothing else.

“Hey, Pretty Boy.”

Spencer swallows, before opening his mouth to reply. Still, second pass until a noise finally escapes. “Hi.”

Cutting to the chase, he states, “Savannah told me about what happened. ‘You wanna talk about it?”

“No.” He honestly replies.

“How bad does your hand hurt?” Derek questions, accepting Spencer’s answer for the time being.

Cracking a weak smile, Spencer replies, “Compared to the time I was shot in the neck? It’s not bad.”

Derek scoffs. “You tell me if it starts hurting though?”

“Yeah.”

There’s a lull in the conversation, neither of them really knowing what to do next. Part of Spencer wants to be the one to speak up, the one to step up, but both of them know it won’t happen. Instead, Derek takes a step forward.

Quietly, he muses, “I’m glad you’re not underneath all these blankets,”

“I was,” Spencer replies, not in the mood to spin a lie. 

“But you’re not anymore.” Comes the counter. “That’s what matters,”

“I wish I was,”

“But you’re not.”

“Yeah.” 

Even while lying on the bed, best friend in the room, Spencer still feels his stomach coil up. That thought makes everything even worse. He shouldn’t be feeling anxious. By all accounts, Spencer should be in the best possible mental state. 

“I wish I didn’t feel like this,” Spencer whispers, barely loud enough for Derek to hear.

Rather than ask what he means, Derek takes it in stride. “You’re gonna get better, kid. You just gotta give it some time.”

Spencer nods, biting his lip. “Do you ever…” He cuts himself off, trying to formulate his thoughts better. “Do you ever just want to stop thinking? Stop feeling whatever it is that you’re feeling?”

Frowning, Derek takes in the information. “Spencer,” The usage of his first name makes the recipient extra on edge, “Are you thinking about suicide?”

“No.” Spencer confidently replies. “Not like that, at least.”

With serious eyes, Derek replies, “You’re not doing a good job convincing me,”

“I don’t want to die,” The younger man clarifies. “I just wish that I could make everything stop once in a while.”

“And is now one of those times?” Derek questions, even though he’s pretty sure he already knows the answer.

Spencer looks down. “I think so.”

Derek sighs, not of annoyance, but sympathy. “What can I do to help?”

“I don’t know,” Spencer admits, looking down at the protection around his body. 

Although he doesn’t say anything else, Derek still keeps his eyes trained on Spencer. With moving his eyes, Spencer knows that Derek’s watching him, and curls in on himself a tiny bit more.

After a few tense moments, Derek speaks up. “You want some water?”

“Sure,” Spencer awkwardly replies, hoping that it’s not too obvious that he just wants Derek to leave. It’s not the older man’s fault, it honestly has nothing to do with Derek himself.

The idea of being watched just puts Spencer on edge, even if it’s his friend.

Derek leaves the door open when he leaves, and Spencer knows better than to stand up and close it. Instead, he settles for staring intently at the hinges, as if he could force it to move with the power of suggestion. It doesn’t work.

When Derek comes back, Spencer drinks the entire glass of water just to do something. After he’s done, Spencer continues holding the glass to stop his fingers from moving like they so desperately want to be doing.

In a strange sort of joy, Spencer’s glad that Derek gave him a cup made of glass. Not that he’s going to do anything with it, but the fact that Derek trusts him enough means a little too much to Spencer’s fractured mind. Spencer gives him a smile, even though Derek doesn’t know what for.

Despite his best intentions, Spencer’s fingers begin to drum around the glass without Spencer’s permission. Exhausted from panicking, Spencer just gives up and lets the joints in his fingers control themselves.

Even though that’s not actually what’s happening. No, instead tiny electrical impulses are sent to his brain from the nerves in his fingers, and back again, a thousand times in the span of a second. Blankly, Spencer lets his muscles contract and relax, idly watching as the pads of his fingers make their way across the glass.

It takes Spencer a few seconds to even realize what’s happening.

Although it’s impossible to tell from an outside standpoint, Spencer realizes that his fingers are tapping out their own little tune. It’s not really their tune, though. It’s Sammy’s.

B, D, F#, G. Pinkie, middle finger, index finger, thumb, all on his left hand. B, D, F#, G.

He knows the right hand part as well, learned it the night they got back from the case, seconds after buying a keyboard, but is content with just tapping out the base theme.

B, D, F#, G.

Spencer wonders what Ethan would think. The entire time they were together, Spencer avoided playing with Ethan, but merely hours after meeting a young boy, he began to learn. He thinks that Ethan wouldn’t hold that against him, but Spencer’s not sure of much these days.

Even when his fingers continue their thrumming, Derek doesn’t seem to mind. Unlike most things in Spencer’s life, it’s a nice reminder that he’s okay to stim. At least around Derek. Probably not around the rest of the world. Definitely not around the rest of the world.

B, D, F#, G.

“I want to go outside.” Spencer doesn’t really know why he said that. The inside is where he’s the safest, that’s a fact, but something in his brain tells him to go outside. Not around people, that’s for sure, but under the sun.

He frowns at his own words, even before Derek can. “I- I think at least. Maybe? I don’t know.”

With a questioning look, Derek asks, “Do you want to go to the backyard?”

“I think so,”

Derek raises an eyebrow at Spencer’s half-hearted decision making, but complies. “Go for it,” He says, motioning to the guest room door.

Like most of the other things in the Morgan household, their backyard reminds Spencer of a happy little family. It’s strikingly similar to the homes of the victims of family annihilators, and Spencer’s not really able to push that thought from his head.

The backyard has green grass and a little vegetable garden along the side fence. One time when Spencer was really little, he got invited to a birthday party. There was cake and ice cream, and they all celebrated in the backyard. He hopes that’ll be the same case for Hank when he grows older.

Avoiding the patio table, Spencer ends up just sitting straight down on the grass, ignoring the slight dampness underneath him. Pulling his knees up to his chest, Spencer takes his free hand to glide across the green blades, occasionally snagging on a weed.

Without knowing why, Spencer still has a perpetual frown on his face.

A part of him feels like a little kid, staying at the park after school because it was always a toss up on whether or not his mom would recognize him. The only difference is that three decades has passed. Everything else stays the same, though.

The worry about Diana’s unknown mental state, the hiding in long clothes, the heavy sun beating down- it’s all the same.

Spencer takes his other hand off his knees and glides it over the grass as well. It’s not his favorite texture, but it’s definitely not a bad one. Pressing his hands into the plants, feeling the soil underneath actually feels quite nice.

Minutes pass in relative silence, and the only thing Spencer has to worry about are the sounds of residential traffic. Summer break has just begun, and the profiler can hear all of the telltale sounds of kids walking through the neighborhood without the burden of school on their shoulders. Occasionally, he’ll hear a bike pass by, and part of Spencer’s brain supplies him with the fact that there are approximately 45,000 bicycle related accidents per year, and the number’s only going up.

Every so often, Spencer will hear a bird chirp.

And for the first time in Spencer’s life, he understands why Gideon left. There’s something so plainly beautiful about sitting and listening. Sure, his brain still runs a mile a minute, but the sounds are… nice.

That’s the only way he can think to explain them. They’re nice sounds. They fill his brain with happiness, against all odds. Gideon picked a good thing to do for retirement. Spencer wonders who he would leave a note for if he chose the same path.

At some point, Hank ends up joining him, running around the back yard like a track athlete. He’s at the age where running and climbing are the absolute best things to do, even if he falls over half of the time. It’s stimulating, for Hank’s little brain.

The boy does a few laps, before exhausting his small legs, and plops down near Spencer. After looking at his godfather for a few minutes, Hank sits down exactly like Spencer, knees drawn up to his chest, and runs his hands over the grass.

Spencer feels his chest pull.

It’s not the same type when he’s feeling anxious, but instead from love. The same feeling when Henry first grabbed Spencer’s finger with his entire fist, and the first time Michael babbled to him. Swallowing, Spencer looks down at the grass, peeking around his three layers of socks.

What’s going to happen to Hank? He’s still so innocent, still so pure to the world. He hasn’t even learned about how the world works. Spencer hopes that when something inevitable destroys Hank, it’ll be when he’s older. Hopefully he’ll get as much childhood as possible.

For now, he’ll suffice with just watching the young boy rip up pieces of grass. Spencer doesn’t blame him, he remembers tearing his fair share of grass when he was super little too.

Spencer ends up eating leftovers for lunch, awkwardly shying away from any attempts at conversing. He doesn’t know if it’s the lingering emotional exhaustion, or if today just isn’t a day that he can talk. Luckily, neither Derek nor Savannah mind it. Hank, on the other hand, spends most of his time trying to get Spencer to pay with him.

Today, he’s extra enamoured with a bunch of plastic dinosaurs. Spencer remembered when Henry was in his dinosaur phase. When he babysat, they used to sit together on the couch as Spencer would spill out fact after fact about dinosaurs. Henry is one of the people in Spencer’s life that has never interrupted him.

Spencer gets the feeling that Hank will also be one of those people.

Although his lack of communication today makes talking hard, it doesn’t seem to stretch over into the realm of writing, so Spencer takes advantage of that. Even though he’s barely sent the last letter, Spencer’s already starting his next one.

_ Hi, Mom. _

_ I hope you’re doing well, as always. _

As per usual, Spencer gets stuck after just one line. It takes him a few moments to get his thoughts in order, but once he does, the words come easy.

_ It’s a long story, but I’m staying with the Morgans. You’ve met Derek, he used to be on my team. I don’t know if you remember, but he left a few years ago when he had a kid. Anyway, I’ve been living with Derek, his wife Savannah, and their kid, Hank. _

_ Hank’s really little, just barely two years old. I worry a lot about him, and I’m not even one of his parents. I know that you always thought something was going to happen to me, but I always thought those were just your delusions. _

Spencer swallows, leaving the nib of his pen to create a small dot in the middle of the line. After taking a breath, he continues.

_ Now though, it makes more sense. Everytime I see Hank, I always worry about the things that could go wrong. I can’t imagine what it was like for you. I guess it’s not the same though. I don’t think I’m having delusions. _

_ Sometimes it feels like it’s hard to tell. _

Spencer sighs.

_ It’s nothing like the things you’ve experienced, but it always seems like something’s waiting to go wrong. I know that it’s just anxiety, and probably a plethora of other mental disorders, but I can’t help but worry that schizophrenia is one of them.  _

_ Sometimes I wish that my brain could just stop moving so fast. But I remember what you told me, back when I was really little. About how my brain was my best asset. I think it’s both my best and worst asset, even though that doesn’t make logical sense. _

_ Dad never seemed to understand that. I think he was half expecting me to grow into my brain, like a kitten and their ears, but it never happened. I never ended up hitting a mental wall like he thought I would. _

No, instead Spencer kept gathering more and more information, soaking up everything in the world like a sponge. Each day he would come home with more facts, and just as Diana would smile, William would frown.

_ I hope that you’re still learning, even though I know things haven’t been going the greatest for you, lately. You once told me that you wanted to learn until the day you died. I know that the sentiment can’t be genetic, but I feel the same way as you. _

_ Dad never really understood, did he? _

Spencer smiles softly, just to himself.

_ I miss you. Hopefully I’ll be able to visit you soon. _

_ Love, Spencer. _

Spencer finishes the letter with a scratchy signature, before setting Mari’s pen down beside it. His writing looks messier than usual, but he knows that Diana will be able to decipher it. Besides the fact that she had been a professor, reading students’ writings for years, Diana always knew what Spencer was communicating, no matter the medium.

Snatching his phone from the charger, Spencer feels his anxiety rise a little bit, but he doesn’t want to wait any longer.

He reads Emily’s message first,

**Prentiss → S. Reid**

**_Hey, just checking in. I talked a bit with Morgan, and he said that you were getting settled in well so far_ **

She’s already sent more texts since the last time Spencer’s checked his notifications.

**_Don’t worry about the case, just yourself_ **

**_When we get back we’ll talk more_ **

Spencer doesn’t know exactly how to respond, but he tries his best.

**Reid → E. Prentiss**

**_I’m doing well. If you want to talk after the case, you know where to find me._ **

Even after hitting send, Spencer’s thumb still hovers over the glass. As if he was talking, Spencer opens and closes his mouth, brain slowly formulating more words.

**_Thank you_ **

Satisfied, Spencer checks JJ’s messages next. Like Emily, she’s sent more since the last time Spencer had checked.

**Jareau → S. Reid**

**_Hey spence, emily told us what happened_ **

**_I’m sorry i didn’t notice earlier, and i promise i’ll be there for you_ **

**_Just make sure you take time to yourself, okay?_ **

**_I’m gonna visit you when we get done with the case_ **

**_And i’ll bring henry and michael, too. they’ve been missing their uncle lately, according to will_ **

**_Sometimes i think that they miss you more than me lol_ **

**_I love you_ **

Spencer smiles at her messages, feeling a bit guilty for making her worry. There’s no doubt that JJ’s beating herself up for not noticing that something was up with Spencer, and he doesn’t know how to soothe her fears.

**Reid → J. Jareau**

**_I’m doing okay, don’t worry about me._ **

**_I’d love to see Henry and Michael soon, I’m missing them as well._ **

**_I love you too._ **

There are new texts from Penelope, which is as bright and bubbly as she is herself.

**Garcia → S. Reid**

**_Emily told me what happened! Are you okay??_ **

**_You can always hang out with me, 187!!!_ **

**_I’m going to bake you some cookies, okay? I’ll make peanut butter ones, i know you love peanut butter!! And i’ll make sure that derk doesn’t eat all of them_ **

**_Kisses!! xoxox_ **

The smile stays on Spencer’s face when he replies.

**Reid → P. Garcia**

**_I’m okay, and you don’t have to make me cookies. Although I think you would have to be more worried about Hank than Morgan if you brought them._ **

**_Love you_ **

Surprisingly, Garcia’s not the last one to send texts to him. He has a series of unread messages from Luke, which makes Spencer feel a bit guilty. After all, he fainted in front of the man, and then demanded he stay away.

**Alvez → S. Reid**

**_Hey reid_ **

**_Emily didn’t let us go see you in the hospital, but she said that you’re doing okay, so that’s good_ **

**_Let me know when you get home_ **

After that, Spencer realizes that there’s a day between the next text.

**_Sorry you probably have a lot of things to do you don’t need to tell me_ **

**_Emily said that you were staying with derek morgan, so that’s good_ **

**_I hope youre doing okay_ **

**_You looked pretty hurt the other day_ **

Spencer reads through all of his messages again. He wasn’t expecting Luke to be as worried as he seems. Then again, he did have a front seat to Spencer’s mind breaking in two.

**Reid → L. Alvez**

**_Hi Luke. Emily’s right, I am doing okay._ **

**_I’m also back in Virginia, but I’m sure you figured that out by now._ **

Spencer winces at how clunky his words sound. To a degree, he’s always like that, but it feels worse than normal all of a sudden.

**_I really am okay, you don’t have to worry._ **

**_Thanks for helping me back in the precinct._ **

After typing out a little more, Spencer deletes it all. Right as he’s about to turn his phone back off, Luke texts back, scaring him.

**Alvez → S. Reid**

**_Im glad that youre back in virginia. flight ok?_ **

Pausing, Spencer sets his phone down. He wasn’t expecting anyone to actually text back. What does he do now? At the moment talking isn’t exactly his strong suit, and all he was expecting to do was to reply to a few texts, not start an entire conversation.

Like a coward, Spencer sends back a quick “yes” before turning his phone upside down on the counter. He feels guilty, but Spencer doesn’t know what else to do. Even though he thought he could, Spencer can’t talk right now.

Pushing himself out from the table, Spencer watches as Hank adds his toy cars to his plastic dinosaur game. A few of the smaller figurines find themselves on top of the Hot Wheels, driving around the coffee table.

Cloony watches with mild amusement, tapping his tail against the floor.

“Done writing to your mom?”

Spencer jerks to the side to see Derek, looking at him softly. “Oh. Yeah.”

“We’ll make sure to send it,”

“Thanks.” Spencer replies, choosing to look at the floor rather than the other half of the conversation. It’s a habit Spencer never really got rid of, even after working for over a decade with the BAU.

Crossing his arms, Derek questions, “What’s going on in that beautiful mind of yours?”

“I don’t know,” Spencer replies, brain still at a subpar communication level. Derek seems to take that answer, and both of them are silent for a few heavy moments. After a beat, Spencer speaks up, “I smell bad.”

Despite the hell of the attempt of showerer, Derek bursts out laughing. It catches the attention of Cloony and Hank, of whom the latter joins in without knowing why. “Never change, Pretty Boy. Never change.”

Spencer isn’t sure exactly what he said, but he’s happy that it made Derek happy. Smiling back, Spencer replies, “I don’t know how to change.”

“That’s why we love you.”

“Emily said a similar thing,” Spencer points out, thinking back to conversations on the jet.

Nodding, Derek adds, “That’s because you’re one of a kind,”

“And Mari said the same thing…” Spencer trails off, getting lost in thought. Besides the dream he had a couple nights ago, he hasn’t thought of Mari too often. 

However, Spencer can still remember Mari’s words as if they were yesterday. He thinks that even without his eidetic memory, that would still be the case. 

_ “...without even realizing how one of a kind you are. It took me just under a decade to realize that.” _

Mari was one of the first people to tell him that. Sure, Gideon thought the same, but the idea behind it was different. For Gideon, Spencer’s ‘one of a kind’ nature was to be used before any other government agencies could. His brain was taken advantage of, and Spencer never realized it.

For the older man, Spencer was appreciated, not for himself, but for his brain.

But for Mari? Mari cared for Spencer. She genuinely worried about Spencer, and regularly made sure that he was doing alright. Until she left, that is. Until they graduated from college, and she made a family of her own. 

It’s strange for Spencer, knowing that the first person that cared about his well being other than his mother just up and left. Like the other people in his life, she disappeared. 

Even after nearly three decades since his father left, Spencer still hasn’t figured out what it is about himself that makes people leave. For a while he thought it was the way that his brain worked. After the initial astonishment of Spencer’s brain, he figured that people just got tired of him and his thoughts.

But plenty of people have left without following that pattern. What else could it be?

Why is it, that when people see Spencer, they leave him, and with only a single token of their memory together. When he was younger, Spencer could’ve chalked up his dad’s letter, Mari’s fountain pen, and Ethan’s scarf to a coincidence. 

But after Gideon left, Spencer was quick to realize that it wasn’t the case.

He got another letter, along with the chess board that Gideon bought him years back. And then when Blake ran away, she left her gun and credentials. Why does everyone leave something? Everyone leaves a message before they disappear completely.

But as he thinks about it, Spencer realizes that Mari was different.

Sure, she left her fountain pen with him, but that was years before leaving. Nobody else did that. Mari didn’t leave a note, she didn’t leave anything  _ at  _ her inevitable disappearance.

“I think I’m going to call Garcia,” Spencer suddenly announces, reaching for the phone he had previously discarded.

Although part of his brain still loathes the idea of communication, the other part is burning with curiosity, desperately wanting to know why Mari isn’t part of the pattern. The horrid pattern of people abandoning Spencer and leaving something the day of their abandonment.

“Is everything okay?” Derek questions, having not followed the younger man’s train of thought. “You do know that she won’t tell you anything about the case, right?”

“It’s not about the case,” Spencer cryptically answers, already unlocking his phone.

Frowning, Derek questions, “What is it about?”

“I need Garcia to find someone for me.” He answers, still not clearing anything up.

“Who do you-” Derek breaks off when his son makes a particularly loud dinosaur roar, “Who are you trying to find?”

Biting the inside of his cheek, Spencer replies, “A friend from college,”

“Ethan?”

“No. Before I met Ethan.” With that, Spencer dials Penelope and brings the phone up to his ear, leg beginning to bounce.

Akin to the dreaded anthrax case, Penelope doesn’t sound as bright as she usually does.  _ “Hey 187. How are you doing?” _

“I’m good,” Spencer quickly answers. “I need your help,”

Perking up a bit, Penelope answers,  _ “You’ve come to the right place! What can I help you with?” _

“I need you to find a woman named Marianna Clifford- wait no,” Spencer frowns, “She probably doesn’t have the same last name,”

From the other end, Penelope questions,  _ “Any other ‘deets’ you can give me? I’m not going to be able to find a single woman with just that.” _

Even though she can’t see it, Spencer nods. “She was born as Marianna Clifford, but I think her name changed when she married. She was born and lived in Portland, Oregon, went to Caltech the same time I did, but went to the University of Illinois for graduate school, studying psychology-”

_ “You should’ve started with that, my dear,” _ Penelope interrupts, acrylic nails clacking on the keyboard. A few seconds pass before she absent mindedly starts up,  _ “Ooookay, born Marianna Clifford, now Marianna Stein, lives in Indiana with her husband Thomas and two kids… Oh! She’s a therapist- wait,” _

Wincing, Spencer quickly states, “I’m not going to her for therapy. She was an old friend of mine. From college.”

_ “Do you want her number?” _ Penelope questions.

Spencer’s first instinct is to say ‘yes,’ but he pauses. “Is there a non invasive way of getting her number?”

_ “Define ‘invasive.’” _ Comes the quick reply. 

In lieu of an answer, Spencer asks, “Can I have her office number? That’d be less creepy, right?” From beside him, Derek gives him a look, only hearing half of the conversation.

_ “Coming right up!” _ Penelope replies, before Spencer hears more clacking.  _ “Okay, you ready?”  _

Even as his stomach begins to form its own knots, Spencer replies, “Yeah.”

After giving the number, there’s a long gap of silence, which doesn’t go unnoticed by anyone, including Derek, who isn’t even sure what’s going on. Eventually, Penelope questions,  _ “Reid? ‘You still there?” _

“Yeah,” Spencer swallows. “I’m still here. Thank you, Garcia.”

Spencer can nearly hear her smile.  _ “It’s no problem! Tell me if you need anything else?” _

“I will,”

_ “Good. I’m bringing you cookies after this case is done, okay? I wasn’t lying about that,”  _ She adds, causing Spencer to grin.

Awkwardly, he replies, “I’m looking forward to it.”

_ “I love you!” _

“I love you too,” Spencer replies, before hanging up. Unsurprisingly, Derek is watching Spencer with his eyebrows raised.

Crossing his arms, he questions, “So what was that about?”

“I had a friend back in college,”

“No, I gathered that,” Derek explains, “What’s with the sudden meetup?”

With the shake of Spencer’s head, he corrects, “We’re not meeting. I haven’t even talked with her in over a decade.”

“So why now?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why reach out to her now?”

Spencer swallows, badly wanting to bring his knees up to hide in them.. “I don’t know. I miss her.”

Nodding, Derek accepts that as the truth. “Her name’s, what, Marianna?”

“Mari,” Spencer corrects. “She’s always gone by Mari. I met her when I was twelve.”

“When’s the last time you talked with her?” Derek asks, unfazed.

“Before Hankel. We used to talk more,” Despite the fact that he wants to say more, Spencer cuts himself off. What if Mari stopped talking with him because she genuinely didn’t want to? Perhaps that’s why she never told Spencer that she changed numbers.

Sliding down into a chair next to Spencer, Derek asks, “So what happened?”

“I don’t know. One day I called her, but she had gotten a new number. I never really tried to contact her since then.”

“When was that?”

“After the anthrax case,” Spencer replies, feeling a bit guilty when Derek sucks in a breath. That case hits hard on everyone in the BAU, not just the ones infected.

Derek forces himself to nod. “So. Are you going to call her?”

“I was going to,”

“But?”

“But now I’m not so sure.” Spencer finishes.

“Why not?”

Frowning, Spencer looks at the table and confidently answers, “She’s the only one that’s left me on terms that aren’t bad. I wouldn’t call it ‘good,’ but it certainly wasn’t bad.” He knows that he’s said the wrong thing when Derek crosses his arms a little tighter.

“So if she didn’t leave you on bad terms, why don’t you want to talk with her again?”

Spencer frowns. He’s never really thought about it that way. “I just don’t want to ruin anything. What if I make things worse by contacting her?”

“Kid,”

“What?”

Motioning with his hands, Derek points out, “You said Mari was your friend, right?”

“Yes. Why?”

“If she’s your friend, why wouldn’t she want to talk to you?”

“I don’t know. She probably stopped talking with me for a reason. What if she wants me to leave her alone?”

Sighing, Derek continues, “I’ve never met her, but I highly doubt that’s the case. And besides, you went through the trouble of getting her number-”

“I just talked with Garcia-”

“So you may as well do something with that,” Derek finishes, ignoring Spencer’s interjection. “Especially now that you have some free time.”

Groaning, Spencer muses, “Mandatory medical leave.”

“Free time.”

Spencer looks up at Derek with an unamused face, but he doesn’t keep the eye contact for long. Maybe he’d be able to if he had another jacket on. Even as Derek continues to look at him, Spencer stays silent.

Luckily, Hank’s still on the living room floor to break the tension. “Rooooaaarr!!” The boy hollars, attacking one of his dinosaurs with another. Glancing at him, Spencer frowns. The dinosaurs he’s playing with were herbivores and would not have fought each other. Figuring that neither Hank nor Derek would appreciate his insight, he stays quiet.

“Are you just going to keep holding your phone,” Derek stars, glancing at Spencer’s hand on the counter. “Or are you actually going to call her?”

Spencer quickly sets the phone down and tucks his hands underneath his armpits. “I don’t know. I’m not the same as I was ten years ago,”

“She won’t be the same either,” Derek points out. “That’s how the passage of time works, kid.”

“Oh, haha,” Spencer drawls, but doesn’t otherwise reply.

“Well, I think you should call her.”

Pursing his lips, Spencer counters, “You don’t even know her,”

“And yet here I am, still giving insights about women for you. It’s like no time has changed at all,” Derek grins, laughing when Spencer makes a face.

“She’s seven years older than me! I met her when I was only twelve. She’s like my sister,” Spencer protests.

Still grinning, Derek explains, “I’m just jokin’, kid. I’m not joking about calling her, though.”

“Yeah, I get it,” Spencer mutters. Standing up, phone in hand, Spencer muses, “I think I’m going to go outside.”

Easily connecting the dots, Derek replies, “You’ll be fine, kid. I’m sure Mari wants to talk to you as much as you do.”

“As much as I, her.” Spencer absentmindedly corrects his grammar, ignoring Derek’s fond snort.

Like before, Spencer settles down in the middle of the grassy backyard, ignoring the patio table and chairs. Part of Spencer wishes that he didn’t have his memory so he could give the excuse of not remembering the phone number, but he’d only be lying to himself.

The eight digits sear into his brain, and Spencer knows that he couldn’t forget them if he tried. While his right hand clutches the phone in a white knuckled grip, Spencer’s left hand drags itself over the grass, relishing the feeling. Despite it being summer, the soil is still damp.

In an instant, Spencer wishes that he had more clothes on. It’s stupid, given the fact that he’s going to be talking over the phone, but he can’t help it. An extra sweatshirt, maybe an extra pair of pants, it’s not like that’s ever hurt anybody.

Well.

Outside of the time he got hospitalized for it. But really, the pros outweigh the cons. In the end, it’s a net positive. 

Spencer shakes his head, as if he could physically remove the thought from his head. Even though he knows from experience that he can’t.

Forcing his fingers to move, Spencer dials the number to Mari’s office.

_ “You’ve reached the office of Doctor Marianna Stein. If this is an emergency, hang up and call 911. If you need to reach me, leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.” _

Even seconds after the phone has beeped at him, Spencer stays silent. He grabs onto the fragile blades of grass like his life depends on it.

Finally, Spencer forces his diaphragm to work.

“Hi Mari. It’s me. Spencer Reid.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dun dun dunnnnnnnn!
> 
> I have been waiting for this moment for like 30k words, so I'm just excited to reach here as you guys are lol. Next chapter Spencer's going to have some important conversations with his therapist, and his phone will play a major part...
> 
> Thanks for reading, and I hope you all have a wonderful day!!


	10. I'm Fine By Myself, Thanks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spencer communicates. With a lot of people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Hi friends, I hope you're doing alright! 2020 is just throwing one shit show after another at me, and sldfkaj;ladsfjkjadsfkl; I FREAKING HATE IT but that's not important lol.
> 
> What is important is this chapter!! Hooray for actually moving the plot along! :D
> 
> I hope you all you lovely people enjoy this longer(ish) chapter!!

_ Hi Mari. It’s me. Spencer Reid. _

_ I, um, I hope you don’t mind me calling you, especially on your office number. Just to be clear, I’m not looking for therapy. As my friend put it, I have a bit of free time on my hands, and I’ve been thinking of you. _

_ I’ve, um, had a few things happen lately that’s made me think of college, undergrad specifically. I hope that you’re doing okay.  _

_ I don’t know where I’m going with this. I guess I’m just wondering if you want to catch up? If you don’t want to, I completely understand. It’s just been awhile since we’ve talked. _

_ Um, I guess that’s all. You can call me back if you want to. On this number. _

_ I- I really hope you’re doing okay. _

_ Bye, Mari. _

*

Even though Spencer knows it’s not professional, he has his legs pulled up to his chest in his therapist’s office. The couch is wide enough for Spencer to easily slip his legs up, and he takes full advantage of that fact. Even though it’s probably simple to psychoanalyze the fact that Spencer feels safer when he’s curled up into a ball, it’s still worth it.

Shaking his head out of his thoughts, Spencer starts, “I tried to take a shower, yesterday.”

With raised eyebrows, Delilah questions, “And how did that go?”

“The key word in that sentence was ‘tried,’” Spencer reports. “I wasn’t actually able to.” On the other hand, Spencer was able to change his clothes so he didn’t smell as horrible. His body itself is still pungent, though. 

“Why don’t you walk me through what happened.”

Spencer frowns. “I don’t really know what happened. I mean, I know I was anxious, but all of a sudden I just…” He sighs, interrupting himself. “I don’t know.”

Delilah takes it all in stride. “Were you feeling anxious before you decided to take a shower yesterday?”

“I think so.” Spencer doesn’t know how to tell her that he feels anxious 100% of the time. It’s not something that comes and goes for him. It’s just always there.

“And it got worse when you went to take a shower,” She concludes.

“Yeah.”

Making a few connections by herself, Delilah questions, “I don’t suppose that the bandages on your hand have anything to do with this shower?”

Unconsciously, Spencer tucks his hand away from view. “I- yeah. I punched a mirror.”

“Do you find yourself often expressing your emotions through anger?”

“No.” Spencer quickly answers. Out of everyone on the team, he’s probably the last one to do so. At least, “Until prison.”

Delilah gives him a look. “When were you at a prison?”

“I wasn’t just there,” Spencer shakes his head, “I- I was inside. I was a prisoner.”

With scrunched up eyebrows, Delilah nods. “And after prison, you’ve been expressing yourself through anger more often?”

“No? I don’t know.”

“That’s okay,” She soothes, “You don’t have to know. Let’s go back to yesterday. When did you punch the mirror?”

Frowning, Spencer reiterates, “When I was going to take a shower,”

“Walk me through what happened,”

Spencer hugs his legs a little tighter, and if Delilah notices, she doesn’t say anything about it. “I’m not sure what-” He swallows, “I had taken off my clothes to take a shower, and then I just- I don’t know.” Spencer cuts himself off, with an angry sigh directed at his brain.

“So from what I’m hearing, this anger was very sudden, right?”

“I guess, yeah.”

Delilah sets her files down and looks at Spencer, causing the other man to shrink down. “Well, it seems to me that you stumbled upon one of your triggers,”

Spencer quickly shakes his head. “I don’t have triggers.”

“You don’t need to be aware of triggers for them to exist.” Delilah plainly states, stopping Spencer’s train of thought. When he doesn’t say anything, Delilah questions, “Spencer? What do you think about that?”

Although he’s quiet for a few more moments, Spencer finally answers, “If it was a trigger that means that it would have to stem from something. Something that actually happened,”

“Are you worried about something that happened to you?”

“I’m worried about the fact that I can’t remember if something happened to me.” Spencer quietly replies, looking down at his knees. “What if there are other triggers that I’m not even aware of?”

Sighing, Delilah replies, “I won’t lie to you, Doctor Reid, there probably are. But I’m going to help you cope with them, okay?”

Spencer doesn’t reply. Instead, he stays sucked into his own thoughts, slowly pushing the outside world away from him. “Okay.”

“Because you started feeling bouts of anger after prison and the fact that you responded with anger yesterday, I think it’s safe to say that you stumbled across a trigger from prison. Does that make sense?”

Frowning, Spencer replies, “I understand how triggers work. I deal with them and make connections to them for a living.”

Delilah nods. “But it’s different when it’s about you. Trauma is hard to cope with when it’s regarding your own brain.”

“I should be able to understand it better if it’s my own brain,” Spencer counters, albeit weakly. 

With a sad smile, Delilah points out, “Unfortunately, that’s not how it works.”

“I don’t even remember what happened,” Spencer chokes out, feeling his stomach begin to twist. “How am I supposed to fix this if I can’t remember?”

Quickly, Delilah supplies, “Triggers aren’t necessarily ‘fixed.’ Instead, we learn to cope with them. There’s no quick answer that just makes them disappear. And it’s completely fine that you don’t remember what happened. In fact, that’s common.”

Spencer’s shoulder drop.

“Are you okay if we keep talking about this?”

“Yeah,” Spencer answers, even though he’s not. “Sure.”

“Alright.” Delilah nods. “You let me know if you want to stop though, okay?”

“Okay.”

Picking up her files once again, Delilah begins. “I know it’s hard, but I need you to walk me through exactly what happened yesterday. If we can pinpoint when you started feeling anger, it’ll be easier to resolve triggers.”

Spencer looks away, but obliges. “I was in the bathroom. The door was closed, but I didn’t lock it.”

“What happened next?”

“I took off my clothes. To take a shower.”

“And what happened after that?”

“The mirror.”

Even though he’s still looking away, Spencer can nearly feel Delilah’s eyes on him. “That’s when you punched the mirror?”

Spencer shakes his head. “No. That’s when I…” He frowns, “Saw the mirror. Saw myself in the mirror.”

“And that’s when you punched the mirror.” Delilah concludes.

“Yeah.”

“I understand that you’re not living at home, right?”

Nodding, Spencer confirms, “I’m living with the Morgans.”

“At home, when you look in a mirror, do you find yourself feeling the same way as you did yesterday?”

Spencer swallows, but doesn’t answer.

“Doctor Reid?”

Finally, he gets out, “I don’t have mirrors at home.”

Delilah nods. “Okay. Did you,” She pauses, picking her words carefully, “Used to have mirrors at your own home?”

“I used to, yes.”

“Did you get rid of them after you came back home from prison?”

Shaking his head, Spencer replies, “No. I got rid of them before that.”

“How long ago was that?”

Although Spencer knows the exact date, he settles for, “Um. About five years ago? Five and a half.”

“Did something happen, like a specific event, that caused you to get rid of all of your mirrors?” Delilah asks, even though she thinks she probably already knows the answer.

“Yes.”

“And what was that?”

“Maeve.”

“Who’s Maeve?”

That’s the question, isn’t it? She was just a woman, in all reality. But to Spencer, she was the world. He settles with, “She was my girlfriend.”

Delilah nods. “And what happened with her five years ago?”

“She died.” Spencer can answer that. It’s just a fact.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Delilah replies, and Spencer can tell that it’s genuine. “Was her death traumatic for you?”

Before he can stop himself, Spencer gives a wet laugh. That’s quite the understatement.

“Doctor Reid?”

Spencer can do this. Just like he wrote his report, it’s just facts. “Maeve had a stalker. My team and I were trying to find who he was, but as it turns out, it was a woman named Diane. She kidnapped Maeve, and I played into her fantasies. I told Diane that I loved her.” Spencer swallows, tears slowly gliding down his cheeks. “I didn’t do a good enough job though. Diane shot me in the arm, and then herself and Maeve.” Without emotion, Spencer finishes, “I survived. Maeve and Diane didn’t.”

Delilah is quiet for a few moments. “I’m really sorry to hear that, Spencer.” She answers. “At the time, did you talk to a professional about it?”

“I had two mandatory therapy appointments.”

“Did you seek out help outside of those appointments?”

Spencer shakes his head. “No.”

Delilah nods. “And after this happened, you got rid of all of your mirrors, right?”

“Yes.”

“When was the last time you saw yourself in a mirror?”

“A long time ago.” Spencer cryptically answers, even though he knows the exact date.

Luckily, Delilah seems to accept it. “Okay. Although we don’t have too much information to go on, it seems like this trigger was probably caused by a combination of things. My guess would be the fact that you saw yourself in a mirror, and the fact that you didn’t have your clothes on. What do you think?”

Emotionally exhausted, Spencer shrugs. “I guess so.” While Delilah writes something in her files, Spencer stays quiet, occasionally pressing his fingers into the sides of his legs where his arms are draped over them. 

“Outside of the shower, how have you been doing with clothes?”

“What do you mean?”

“How many layers are you wearing?”

Spencer clenches his jaw, but still answers. “Three.”

Nodding, Delilah asks, “And do you feel like three layers are adequately protecting you?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” She starts, that’s good. “I’m not going to ask you to take off any layers, of course unless you want to, but I will ask that you don’t add any more layers. Do you think that’s reasonable?” Even though Delilah doesn’t ask it in a condescending manner, Spencer still feels guilty.

“Yeah. I can- that’s doable.” He answers. 

Delilah smiles. “How have the past three days been for you, in general? I can only imagine that living with three other people is a sudden change for you.”

Spencer nods, “It’s alright. I missed Morgan. So it’s nice seeing him.”

“Do you miss the rest of your team?”

“What do you mean?”

“I know that you were sent home from a case, right?” When Spencer nods, she continues, “Do you miss it? Either the case or your team members?”

Spencer scratches the side of his leg. “Yes. I miss both.”

“Have you been able to talk with any of your team members?”

Nodding, Spencer answers, “Yeah. Yesterday I texted a few of them.”

“Did that help with missing them? Or just make it worse?”

Thinking on it, Spencer pauses. “I think it helped. I mean, I still wish I was working the case. But it was still nice to hear from them.”

“Did you hear from all of your team?”

“No,” Spencer shakes his head. “I heard from Emily, she’s the Unit Chief, and then JJ also texted me.”

Giving him a smile, Delilah asks, “Are you pretty close with them?”

“Yeah. JJ’s my best friend.”

“So it was probably nice to hear from her.” Delilah concludes.

“Yeah.”

“Did you hear from anyone else?”

Spencer takes a breath. “I also heard from Luke Alvez and Penelope Garcia.”

“And are you close with them too?”

Spencer nods. “I’ve known Garcia for over a decade. She’s one of my best friends too.”

Without writing anything down, Delilah questions, “And what about the other person? Luke Alvez, right?”

“I was surprised he texted me,” Spencer admits. “I’m not very close with him. But, he was the person that I was with when I passed out back in Texas.”

“So he’s probably pretty worried about you?”

“Yeah. I didn’t want him to worry,”

Delilah gives him a sympathetic smile. “It’s probably out of your power. If he was worried about you, it sounds like he really cares.”

“I guess so,” Spencer half heartedly agrees.

“You don’t think so?”

Spencer shrugs. “I don’t know what to think. Most people that care about me don’t end up with the best life,” Before Delilah can interject, Spencer adds, “And that’s not just abandonment issues. In profiling, when a particular event happens three times, we categorize that as a notable pattern. More than three people fit into this scenario. It’s not a coincidence or abandonment issues. It’s a fact.”

Delilah isn’t sure what to say to that, and Spencer doesn’t blame her. For a long time, he didn’t know what to do with this information either. And if he’s being honest with himself, Spencer still isn’t sure of what to do with the information.

Just like last time, Derek drives Spencer home from therapy. He isn’t sure why, but Spencer assumes it has to do with the fact that he’s not exactly the most trustworthy person at the moment. That being said, Spencer thinks that he probably wouldn’t leave if he had a car.

Or maybe he would.

Spencer’s not really sure.

The first thing Spencer does when he gets home is checks his phone. He’s more disappointed than he thinks he has the right to be when there’s no call back from Mari.

There are, however, texts from JJ and Luke. Still tired from therapy, Spencer leaves those for when he can actually read and interpret their words. 

He thinks about writing a letter to his mom, but Spencer doesn't think he’d be able to keep his anxiety out of his writing, so he passes on that for now. Diana’s health is declining enough that she probably won’t even notice that Spencer missed a day.

Assuming she even remembers who Spencer is. Spencer forces himself to get rid of that thought. Diana will still remember who he is, even if it takes her longer than it should.

A few feet away in the kitchen, Derek is bargaining with his son. “Little man, I promise you that you like carrots, okay?”

“They’re icky!” Hank counters, moving to swat away his bowl.

Luckily, Derek’s quick reflexes haven’t diminished since fatherhood, and he’s able to grab it before Cloony gets some floor carrots. “Just try one?” Derek attempts, “To see if you like them?”

Shaking his head, Hank reiterates, “Nope! I don’t like them!”

“I like them,” Derek muses, “Mommy likes them. You like them too!”

“Nope!” Hank’s smiling brightly, as if he takes joy in his father’s confusion. He probably does.

Standing up, Spencer adds in, “You know, Hank, I like carrots,”

“You do?”

“Yeah!” Spencer enthusiastically confirms. “They’re really yummy!”

Hank turns to Spencer. “No they’re not. They’re icky!”

Internally, Spencer formulates a plan. He’s taken care of Henry enough to know what to do. “Can I have one of your carrots?” He asks, motioning to Hank’s bowl of baby carrots.

Despite the fact that he doesn’t want one, Hank evidently doesn’t want his possessions to be taken away from him either. “No! They’re mine.”

“But if you’re not going to eat them…” Spencer trails off, pretending to reach for his food.

“No! They’re mine!”

With mild amusement, Derek watches from the side, only moving when Hank gets the urge to throw his vegetables.

“But if you don’t eat them, they’re going to become mine,”

“No they won’t!”

Giving a dramatic grimace, Derek adds in, “Oh, but they will, Little Man. Uncle Spencer’s gonna get your carrots unless you eat them.”

“They’re mine!” Hank declares, shoving a baby carrot in his mouth.

Spencer and Derek both share a grin, plan having gone unnoticed by Hank.

After making a home for himself into a kitchen chair beside Derek and Hank, Spencer pulls up his legs to his chest. It’s not to say that he doesn’t feel safe around the two, but he feels safer this way.

While Hank is chomping on his carrots, Derek turns to Spencer to question, “‘You hear back from that woman? Mari?”

Spencer shakes his head. “No. Not yet, at least.”

“There’s still time,”

“I never said there wasn’t,” Spencer points out.

With a raised eyebrow, Derek explains, “I can practically feel you thinking, Pretty Boy. Just because she hasn’t called you back yet doesn’t mean that she won’t ever will.”

“I know.” Spencer swallows. “It’s just been so long. What if she doesn’t even remember me?” It feels stupid saying it out loud, but Spencer can’t take back his words.

Smiling, Derek claims, “Even without an eidetic memory, I don’t think anyone could forget you, kid.”

Spencer presses his lips together. “Yeah. I guess.”

“Hey, so,” Derek starts, changing gears. “Prentiss called while you were at your appointment,”

“And?”

“They’ve finished up the case out in Texas. She said that they’re gonna fly out today, but they won’t be home ‘till pretty late.”

Spencer nods. “Okay? What does this- am I supposed to know something?”

“Nah,” Derek shakes his head. “She just said that she’s gonna talk with you within the next couple of days.”

Spencer pales. He knows that their small conversation back in the hospital in Austin wasn’t going to be the last, but he really wishes it were. If there’s one thing Spencer doesn’t want to do, it’s explain to Emily why the hell he keeps wearing jackets.

Part of Spencer wants to ask Derek if any other victims were killed, but he stops himself. For one, Derek probably doesn’t even know, and if he did, there’s no way he’d tell Spencer. Maybe he’ll ask Emily. Then again, Emily probably wouldn’t tell him either.

“Also your phone’s been buzzin’,” Derek points out, nodding his head toward the counter. “Either you have some secret admirer, or someone’s trying to get your attention.”

Avoiding his phone, Spencer turns back to Hank, who’s still gnawing on baby carrots, little hands holding them in fists. “Yeah,”

With a look, Derek questions, “Don’t want to check your phone?”

“I just…” Spencer sighs. “I don’t know how to talk to the team. They all know what happened and I don’t want them to treat me differently.”

“I think they’re just worried.” Derek points out.

“Yeah, but I mean,” Interrupting himself, Spencer wraps a hand around his legs. “It makes sense for Emily and JJ to worry- Garcia too. But Luke’s also been texting me. He doesn’t even know me that well. What if he’s just taking pity on me?”

“Kid,”

“Yeah?”

“Look at me.” After Spencer obliges, Derek continues, “Nobody’s gonna start pitying you because of this. Even though I’m not on the team any more, I know for a fact that won’t happen. They’re just worried about you. It’s scary when you land yourself in the hospital.”

Spencer’s silent for a few moments, before nodding. “But Luke was there. He got a front row seat to me freaking out!”

“Why are you so worried about what Luke thinks?”

Caught off guard from the question, Spencer dumbly asks, “What?”

“JJ and Garcia are basically your best friends, and Prentiss is the Unit Chief, but you’re not worried about what they think. So why Luke?” Derek questions, looking rather smug.

“‘Cause he was there?” Spencer figures he doesn’t sound very convincing when he turns the statement into a question.

With a grin, Derek muses, “Mmkay, Pretty Boy.”

“Wait, what? Why don’t you believe me?”

“No reason,” He continues grinning, before turning his attention to Hank, ignoring Spencer’s flabbergasted look.

Left with a confused face, Spencer opens his mouth to ask another question, but ends up closing it without any noise coming out. What’s Derek trying to get at?

Looking down at his son’s bowl, Derek questions, “Still think carrots are icky?”

“Yep!” Hank declares, looking all too pleased with himself.

With a fond shake of his head, Derek muses, “I will never understand you, Little Man.”

“Cars?”

“You wanna go play with cars?”

“Yeah!”

Obliging, Derek picks him up, setting Hank on his hip, before setting him down in the living room by his dinosaurs and hotwheels. A second later, Spencer can hear plastic clacking against plastic, and little roars coming out of Hank.

It makes him smile.

It also makes Spencer worried beyond belief. He doesn’t want to think about the fact that something in the world will ruin Hank. There’s something that will take away Hank’s innocence, and Spencer knows that it’s inevitable. The only question is what will it be?

Stuck in his head, Spencer doesn’t notice Derek come back over, unplugging his phone from the charger. “Alright,” he announces, “Let’s see who’s texting Pretty Boy,”

“Wha- Morgan!” Spencer nearly jumps out of his chair, about to snatch the phone back.

Lightning tossing the electronic, Derek laughs, “I’m just playin’ with you, kid. I’m not gonna look at your messages. But that does raise the question-”

“No it does not-”

“What don’t you want me to see?”

“Nothing.” Spencer quickly answers. “It’s just my phone. Not yours.”

“Is that why you’ve been avoiding looking at it?”

Spencer scowls at him. “I haven’t been avoiding it.”

“Uh huh,”

“I haven’t!”

Grinning, Derek replies, “Whatever you say, Pretty Boy.”

With a determination that he hasn’t had in awhile, Spencer turns on his phone. “See look, I’ll check my phone right now.”

At this point, Spencer shouldn’t really be surprised when Derek bursts out laughing.

“Wait- what?”

“I’d never expect that the same trick would work on a two year old and a thirty-seven year old,” Derek chuckles, laughing even harder at Spencer’s surprised face.

Spencer hangs his head down. “I really just fell for that, did I?”

“Still got it in me!” Derek replies, holding his fist in the air. “Seriously though, now that you got your phone, go check your messages. It keeps buzzin’.”

Knowing that he’s lost this battle, Spencer obliges.

There’s another message from Emily, a few more from JJ, and surprisingly, a few more from Luke.

**Jareau → S. Reid**

**_Would you be up to seeing henry and michael tomorrow?_ **

**_We just got done with the case and i thought itd be fun to see you_ **

Spencer smiles, just thinking about his godsons. He misses them more than usual, and he isn’t really sure why.

**Reid → J. Jareau**

**_As long as the Morgans are good with it, I’d love to see them. Are you also going to stop by? I miss you too._ **

When there’s not an immediate response, Spencer checks Emily’s messages next.

**Prentiss → S. Reid**

**_JJ said she might see you tomorrow so i’ll put off a talk until at least the day after_ **

**_I know that you’re probably dreading it but it won’t be bad_ **

**_Im not mad at you_ **

Internally, Spencer frowns. What exactly is Emily going to talk to him about? And in his experience when people say they’re not mad, they usually are. Along with a worried sigh, Spencer writes back.

**Reid → E. Prentiss**

**_Sounds good. We’ll figure out a time later?_ **

He gets an instant response back, only slightly scaring him.

**Prentiss → S. Reid**

**_Yeah. i’m basically free after paperwork so whatever works with you_ **

**_How’re you doing?_ **

**Reid → E. Prentiss**

**_I’m doing well._ **

**Prentiss → S. Reid**

**_Im glad to hear that_ **

**_Morgan treating you well?_ **

**Reid → E. Prentiss**

**_Yes._ **

**Prentiss → S. Reid**

**_Good_ **

**_Take it easy ill talk to you later_ **

Spencer considers writing something back, but he doesn’t really know what to say. The social norms of texting have never completely made sense to him, and he feels like that’ll be the case for a long time.

Unable to contain his curiosity any longer, Spencer checks to see what Luke texted him. He feels a bit guilty after not saying anything back the previous day, but Spencer figures that talking now would make up for it.

**Alvez → S. Reid**

**_Im glad that your flight was good_ **

**_Hows virginia?_ **

Spencer can see that there are a few extra hours before Luke’s next text:

**_Sorry i know youre probably busy_ **

**_You dont have to answer_ **

He types out a response before he can stop himself.

**Reid → L. Alvez**

**_Virginia’s also good._ **

He knows that the appropriate thing to talk about would be the temperature of the weather, but given Spencer’s… situation, he figures it wouldn’t end very well.

**Reid → L. Alvez**

**_How did the case go?_ **

Surprisingly, Luke texts back, even faster than Emily.

**Alvez → S. Reid**

**_The case was good_ **

**_We caught the unsub earlier today and were all back on the jet now_ **

**_I think eta is around two hours_ **

Looking up to the top of his phone, Spencer does a bit of math regarding time zones, before nodding to himself. Another buzz from his phone disrupts his thoughts.

**Alvez → S. Reid**

**_I know i already asked you this but howre you doing?_ **

**Reid → L. Alvez**

**_I’m doing well. How are you?_ **

**Alvez → S. Reid**

**_I’m good_ **

**_I was just worried about you_ **

**_You seemed pretty hurt a few days ago_ **

**_Sorry if im making you uncomfortable we dont have to talk about what happened_ **

**Reid → L. Alvez**

**_It’s okay. I’m not uncomfortable_ **

It’s not a lie, because Spencer’s always uncomfortable. At least, that’s what he tells himself. Besides, would Luke really want the truth? It’s probably like when people make small talk, they aren’t actually asking how someone’s day is going.

**Reid → L. Alvez**

**_I’m sorry that I worried you._ **

**Alvez → S. Reid**

**_Oh wait dont be sorry_ **

**_I just meant that i cared about you_ **

Spencer sets his phone down, more confused than anything else. Ordinarily, he’d ask someone how he should be responding to something like this. If they were in person, then at least Spencer would be able to read their body language, or at least their face, but he’s completely clueless when it comes to texts.

JJ and Garcia aren’t here, and Spencer would feel too weird asking Derek, especially because he doesn’t know Luke very well. That leaves Spencer by himself, awkwardly trying to figure out what Luke is trying to say to him.

Spencer’s fingers keep hovering over the glass, occasionally twitching like they’re going to move, but they never actually press down. After about twenty seconds have passed, Luke evidently beats him to it.

**Alvez → S. Reid**

**_Sorry that was weird_ **

**_Im just glad youre ok_ **

**Reid → L. Alvez**

**_It wasn’t weird. Thank you_ **

Or maybe it was weird. Spencer can’t tell if it’s his lack of communication skills or something else. He doesn’t have time to muse on that fact when Luke writes back immediately.

**Alvez → S. Reid**

**_Youre welcome_ **

Spencer stares at his phone. Is he supposed to start a new topic of conversation now? There’s still a lot he doesn’t know about texting. What if Luke’s expecting to get a text back? Garcia once told him that you shouldn’t ‘leave people on read,’ and what if that’s exactly what Spencer is doing right now?

“Kid,” Derek starts, causing Spencer to jerk his head up. “Why’re you giving the stink eye to your phone?”

Frowning, Spencer weakly counters, “I’m… not.” Spencer gives him a look, and brings up his shoulders so his chin can fit inside of the collar of his sweatshirt. For safety purposes. And safety purposes only.

“Yeah, right. Who’re you texting.”

“Luke Alvez.”

“Oooh,” Derek exaggerates, making Hank laugh beside him. According to the child, his father making funny noises is the funniest thing in existence. 

“What does that mean?”

Grinning, Derek replies, “Don’t worry about it,”

“You don’t even know Luke.” Spencer points out.

With raised eyebrows, the older man counters, “But you forget that I still talk with my Baby Girl every day.”

“Garcia talks to you about us?”

“Oh yeah,” Derek laughs. “I know every secret that she does.”

“Why? Wait- what does she say about Luke?”

“Absolutely nothing.” Derek replies, in a way that definitely does not mean ‘absolutely nothing.’

As a way to escape Derek, Spencer turns his attention back to his phone.

**Reid → L. Alvez**

**_Did the takedown go okay?_ **

Yet again, Luke replies almost instantly.

**Alvez → S. Reid**

**_Yeah_ **

**_Everything went smoothly_ **

**Reid → L. Alvez**

**_I’m glad. No one got hurt?_ **

**Alvez → S. Reid**

**_Nope_ **

Once again, Spencer finds himself stuck. What’s he supposed to say now? Or should he just leave the conversation as it is? He wishes Garcia were here to coach him. Based on the way Derek is acting, Spencer definitely doesn’t want the older man anywhere near his texts. When his phone buzzes again, Spencer looks down.

**Alvez → S. Reid**

**_You didnt get hurt either, right?_ **

**Reid → L. Avlez**

**_I don’t think I understand. I haven’t been working the case_ **

**Alvez → S. Reid**

**_No i know_ **

**_I just meant like in general_ **

**_Not that i think you’re going to get hurt_ **

**_Ive just been worried the past few days_ **

**_Sorry im being weird again_ **

**_I can stop_ **

Momentarily stunned, Spencer doesn’t know exactly how to reply.

**Reid → L. Alvez**

**_Oh_ **

**_You’re not being weird, and I’m okay. There’s not any long lasting effects from heat exhaustion_ **

**Alvez → S. Reid**

**_Thats what happened?_ **

**_I didnt really know exactly what had happened_ **

**_I mean that ws my guess_ **

**_*was_ **

**Reid → L. Alvez**

**_In that case, you guessed correctly. I’m fine now, though_ **

**Alvez → S. Reid**

**_Good_ **

**_Im glad that youre ok_ **

**_Sorry i keep saying that_ **

Is that something that Spencer should say ‘thanks’ to? He is grateful for his worry, but it doesn’t really seem like something that would make sense if he sent it.

“There’s that stink eye again,”

“Morgan!” Spencer sends him a look before moving the chair so he’s facing a different direction. Despite his love for poker, Spencer has a terrible poker face, and Derek’s always been able to read him. Even when he’s texting, apparently.

Spencer’s already typing out a response, when his phone suddenly flashes white. There’s a call coming in. There’s a call.

There’s a call for Spencer and he knows exactly who it’s from.

_ “Hi.” _

Spencer feels his mouth dry up. She sounds the exact same, yet completely different, all at the same time. It doesn’t even make sense to him.

_ “Spencer?” _

“Hi, Mari.” He answers, far more quiet than he wanted to.

_ “Hi.”  _

There’s a pregnant pause in the conversation, and Spencer knows that both of them are stuck with thoughts in their heads with no way to get them out. 

Eventually, Spencer talks. “How, um, how have you been?”

Mari almost instantly responds.  _ “Good! Things have been good for me. What about you? It’s been a long time. Are you still working with the FBI?” _

“Yeah,” Spencer replies, agreeing to both of the statements. “I’m still working in the BAU. And I see that you’re still working as a therapist?”

_ “Oh yeah. I love it.” _

“Good. I’m glad.”

After Spencer closes his mouth, silence falls between them once again. He can hear the quiet breathing from the other end, and Spencer wonders if Mari can also hear him.

Suddenly, Mari speaks up,  _ “I’m sorry for not calling you sooner. When I got rid of my landline I forgot to give you my cell number,” _

Part of Spencer wants to ask why she didn’t just call him, because after all, Spencer never changed his number. Instead, he forgives. “It’s okay. I understand.”

_ “How are you doing, Spencer? For real.” _

Spencer bites his lip. “I’m doing okay. Same as usual, I guess.”

_ “Yeah?” _

“Yeah.”

Evidently accepting Spencer’s response, Mari questions,  _ “So what’s new with you? Have any exciting things happened since the last time we’ve talked? A new boyfriend? Or girlfriend,” _

“I uh,” Spencer chuckles, but not because of humor. “No. I haven’t really been in a relationship since Ethan, actually.” It’s probably the best to not mention Maeve.

_ “There’s someone out there for you,” _ Mari quickly replies, ever the optimist.  _ “I just know it.” _

“Yeah,” Spencer smiles. “Are you still with Thomas?”

_ “Mmhm. Yeah, Tom and I are still going strong. You met Marty, right? Back when he was a baby?” _

Spencer nods, before remembering that she can’t see it. “Yeah.”

Mari awkwardly laughs before adding,  _ “He’s uh, Marty’s in highschool now. It’s absolutely crazy, you know? It feels like just yesterday he was still sleeping in a crib.” _

“How old is he?”

_ “Fourteen,” _ Mari answers.  _ “And my younger one- oh wait! You’ve never met her, have you?” _

“No.” Spencer shakes his head.

_ “I have a daughter as well. She just finished her first year of middle school. So, you know,” _ She breathes,  _ “They’re both growing up really fast.” _

Spencer doesn’t know exactly how to respond. “Wow.”

Mari gives another laugh, and Spencer can perfectly imagine what her smile looks like. After a few moments, she asks,  _ “How’s the FBI? Still enjoying it?” _

“Yep,” Spencer answers, before he can stop himself. “It’s good. We’re still solving cases. We haven’t actually been to Indiana in a long time.”

_ “That’s a good thing though, right?” _

“Yeah. Not that many serial killers in Indiana, I guess.”

_ “You could probably give me the statistics on serial killers in Indiana, couldn’t you?” _

He can’t help it when a laugh escapes. “I, uh, yeah. I could.”

Mari laughs with him for a few seconds before asking,  _ “So how’s your team? Is Agent Gideon still there?” _

Spencer takes a deep breath. There’s so much that Mari has missed. “Uh, no, actually.”

_ “Oh?” _

“He left a while ago,” Spencer starts using his free hand to pick at the hem of his sweatshirt. “And died a few years ago.”

Spencer can hear Mari’s sharp intake of breath.  _ “Jesus, I’m sorry, Spencer.” _

“It’s okay.” Spencer answers, because he doesn’t know how else to.

_ “But the rest of the team? Are they okay?” _

Other than being thoroughly traumatized? “Yeah, they’re all good. I’m still working with JJ, who I met back around the time when I visited you.”

_ “Are you two close, then?” _

Spencer doesn’t hesitate.“She’s my best friend. I’m actually her kids’ godfather.”

_ “That’s wonderful! How old are they?” _

“A few years younger than your children. Both boys.”

_ “Yeah? I bet they love you,” _

Spencer sighs, “I hope so.”

_ “Hey, so, Spencer,” _

“Yes?”

Mari swallows.  _ “Uh, in your voice message, you said that you had some free time?”  _ Spencer winces. He knew he shouldn’t have said that.  _ “If you still do, you’re totally welcome to come and visit- stay with us. It’s been so long, and I know my family would love you.” _

“I, um, I can’t, actually.”

_ “Oh,” _

Quickly, Spencer backtracks, “It’s not anything that has to do with you. I’m dealing with some stuff… here?”

_ “You’ve never been able to lie to me, Spencer.” _ Mari fondly points out.  _ “What’s going on? What don’t you want me to know?” _

“It’s not just free time from the Beauro,” Spencer answers, hoping that Derek’s not listening in. “It’s medical leave.”

From the other end, Spencer can hear Mari gasp.  _ “Are you okay?” _

“Yeah, I’m- I’m fine.” He breathes. “I just can’t really fly right now.”

_ “Okay, that’s okay. Don’t worry about it _ .”

“I’m sorry-”

_ “Spencer,”  _ Mari interrupts,  _ “It’s okay. You’re fine. There’s going to be more time for us to catch up, yeah?” _

Nodding to himself, Spencer agrees, “Yeah, definitely.”

_ “Promise me that you’re okay, though? You’re not too hurt?” _

“I’m not hurt,” Spencer answers, convincing himself of the same. “I promise, it’s honestly not that bad.”

_ “Good,”  _ Mari chuckles,  _ “I don’t want you getting shot at or anything.” _

“Uh,”

_ “Wait- you haven’t been shot, have you? Right?” _

Wincing, Spencer awkwardly replies, “Not this time?”

_ “What do you mean? You’ve been shot before?!” _

“It comes with the job?”

With a nervous laugh, Mari mutters,  _ “Oh my gosh. Spencer, you’re freaking me out!” _

“I’m really okay,” Spencer smiles. “I promise.”

_ “You better be. The next time I see you I’m going to give you the biggest hug, I swear.”  _ Spencer’s pretty sure that Garcia has said a version of that line at least a few times. They’d probably be friends.

Internally, Spencer shudders at the thought of someone touching him, even someone like Mari. However, he still responds, “Yeah.”

A few more seconds pass before Mari speaks up again.  _ “God, it’s been so long since I’ve seen you. I didn’t even realize until now how much I missed you until now, you know? Does that even make sense?” _

“I understand,” Spencer replies. “I feel the same way.” Except he doesn’t. He had been missing Mari for the past decade, wondering every day if she felt the same. Now that he has the answer, Spencer kind of wishes he could forget it.

_ “We’ll see each other soon, okay? If you can’t visit me then I’ll fly out to Virginia. ‘Sound like a plan?” _

“Yeah,” Spencer nods, hoping that if Mari flies out it’ll be in awhile. Spencer doesn’t want her to see him like this. In a perfect world, nobody would see him like this, but that metaphorical ship has already sailed.

There’s a bit of scuffle on the other end, before Mari announces,  _ “Hey, listen Spencer, I have to go home in a second- I’m still at the office right now- but I still really want to catch up with yout,” _

“Me too.”

_ “Great! Okay, can I give you my cell number?” _

Relief flooding through Spencer, he quickly answers, “Yeah- yeah definitely.”

Spencer commits the number to his memory, but doesn’t know what to do afterward. Both of them stay on the line, breathing into their microphones, but neither dare to end the conversation. It lasts for nearly thirty seconds.

Finally, Mari’s the one to talk first.  _ “Alright, I gotta go now. Take care of yourself, yeah?” _

Spencer nearly scoffs. If only it were as easy as that. “Yeah. Bye, Mari.”

_ “Bye!” _

After the call ends, Spencer brings the phone back down, but doesn’t let go of it. He keeps his eyes straight forward, digesting the entire conversation. If he closes his eyes, it’s like no time has passed at all. Like he’s still twenty-two, calling Mari between FBI training courses.

Even though he knows Derek is watching, Spencer is grateful that the older man doesn’t say anything. Eventually, Spencer takes a deep breath and brings himself out of his stupor.

When he looks down at his phone, it’s like there’s no evidence of the call at all.

In fact, the only thing on the screen is a notification from Luke, who has no idea about what happened. 

**Alvez → S. Reid.**

**_I was just really worried_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ohmygod they're FUCKING GAYYYYYYYYY
> 
> Anyway, as always, thank you everyone so much for your kind words, they have honestly been keeping me going these past few days. I really can't say thank you enough <3
> 
> Writing is, and probably forever will be, my best coping mechanism, so there will be lots more Charcoal coming soon ahaha. Also I'm working on a whumpy oneshot that will probably be done tomorrow? I dunno I'm not a calendar idon'tknow how time works l i s t e n i need a hug


	11. Can I Take a Quick Minute?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spencer has anxiety. JJ is an incredible wingwoman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Hi! I hope everyone's doing well! For those of you that monched and cronched on some food yesterday for Thanksgiving, I hope that it went well! And I hope that all of you are continuing to be safe!
> 
> This is the longest chapter, and by far the gayest chapter (so far), and I'm really excited to share it with you all! That being said, I edited this rather quick this morning, so there may be more grammatical and spelling errors than usual lol.
> 
> TW: animal death, slight gore
> 
> Please enjoy! :D

Spencer was almost certain that he wasn’t very good at hiding his anxiety. If the stray glances his way weren’t evidence enough, Derek telling his son to “Give Uncle Spencer some space,” was enough.

The worst part is, Spencer isn’t even sure what he’s anxious about. Rather than having a trigger, it’s just there. A constant nagging feeling that something is going to go wrong, and he can’t do anything about it.

For the entire rest of the night, Spencer pulls down his sleeves to completely cover his knuckles, and even the tips of his fingers when he’s actively paying attention. He has to physically stop himself from putting on more socks, and the only thing that helps is the promise to himself that he’ll be under blankets soon enough.

The Morgans end up watching old game show television, and Hank joins them, even though he doesn’t really know what’s going on. Evidently the attention of his parents is enough to keep him on the couch.

Thankfully, Derek doesn’t try to communicate with Spencer for the rest of the night, which the younger man’s all too grateful for. Spencer’s exhausted from all of the conversations with his friends, and that’s not even counting the fact that he started his day with therapy.

Therapy where he talked about triggers. And triggers come from trauma, which means that Spencer’s traumatized, but that doesn’t make sense, because Spencer would know if he’s traumatized, right? If he went through something hellish enough to leave scars, wouldn’t he at least remember it?

He’d been able to block it out for the rest of the day, but it’s all crashing down now. How has he experienced something traumatic enough to give him triggers and not realize it? What if he forgot about it? Like Diana forgot about things, like how Diana still forgets things. 

Spencer knows he’s predisposed to the world's least favorite mental disorders, and there’s no way he’s able to escape all of them. This is probably just the precursor before they become obvious.

Taking a deep breath, Spencer tries to get rid of the thought. They won’t get him anywhere. But what if?

How does someone even forget about trauma? The real question is, how has he been able to forget his trauma, yet still be affected by it? It’s basically the worst case scenario.

Or even worse, what if he hasn’t forgotten about it at all? Maybe he can remember every single detail from some trauma, but he doesn’t even know that it’s affecting him. What if it’s about Maeve, or what if it’s even earlier, what if he’s still having problems because of Hankel? There are so many things that could be wrong with Spencer, and he doesn’t know any of it.

Spencer sits in the backyard while the Morgans are inside, and he’s never been more grateful for that fact. He doesn’t want to think anymore. Spencer just wants to drape his weighted blanket over himself and sleep for a long time. He doesn’t have to deal with all of his human thoughts if he’s sleeping.

But that’s a lie too, isn’t it?

Sleeping could make things worse. Sleeping, where he can’t control anything, least of all his own mind. Sleeping used to be the break from reality that he needed to get through the week, but now it’s just a reminder of all of the things he’s lost.

Before, Spencer could control every little thing. And before, sleeping was the safest he could get. Away from the grabby hands, away from the angry faces, away from everyone.

Now, sleeping’s just another realm for wicked people to reach him.

Even though he didn’t think it was possible, Spencer pulls his knees even closer to his chest. He’s able to wrap both of his arms around his legs, both reaching the other side before getting tucked under his knees. The less surface area the world has to torture him, the better.

Spencer protects his insides, his vital organs. He can’t protect everything, after all, he’s tried and failed, but he can at least protect the most important part of himself. The part of his body that Spencer couldn’t live without.

Squirming his neck around, Spencer manages to tuck his chin inside the collar of his sweatshirt, and takes a breath of relief. If the world can’t reach him, the world can’t hurt him. Out of sight, out of mind.

He’s safe inside his armor, and Spencer feels stupid for even attempting to take a shower earlier. Even after all of the promises to himself, apparently Spencer still hasn’t learned that he’ll get attacked without his protection.

Really, he should be grateful for the fact that he panicked. Because if he didn’t, then Spencer would’ve gone through with the shower, and only bad things could’ve happened. With all of his armor gone, anyone,  _ anyone _ could’ve taken advantage of him.

Perhaps his brain was only trying to protect him. Maybe the panic attack was the only way to stop Spencer from taking off all of his armor. It makes sense, after all. When his armor comes off, bad things happen. It should be a no brainer for him by now:

Don’t take the armor off.

It was stupid and childish to try and take a shower. How could he have done that to himself? If Spencer ended up taking off all of his clothes, terrible things would’ve happened. 

Curling into his sweatshirt, Spencer shudders. What would’ve happened if he didn’t punch that mirror? What would’ve happened when he took off his socks?

The last time that happened, Spencer was in the hospital. The time before that was prison. The two next times before prison, he was in the hospital. And of course, the very first time he didn’t have socks on was with Hankel.

These are for his protection. Why would he even think about taking them off? What the hell is wrong with him? There’s no reason to believe that he would suddenly be safe, just because he’s staying with the Morgans. Evil follows him around, no matter when Spencer is.

In reality, Spencer needs to be more careful than usual. Because if he gets caught without his armor in his own apartment, Spencer will be punished by the world. If he gets caught without his armor in the Morgan household, Hank will end up paying the price.

As his godfather, Spencer has to be the one to protect Hank, no matter the cost.

The evening weather turns cold as the sun finally sets, but Spencer’s layers protect him from the breeze. The reason most people wear layers. For a physical barrier.

If it were Spencer’s choice, he would just stay outside for the next few hours, but Derek ends up poking his head out of the door. “Pretty Boy, you gonna go to bed? I gotta lock up.”

Spencer nods, but doesn’t make any indication that he’s going to move.

“Kid?”

With fear, Spencer watches as Derek takes a step closer to him. “Please don’t- please don’t come near me.”

Derek nods, awkwardly holding his hands up. “Okay. I won’t come any closer. But you gotta come inside, okay?”

“Yeah,” Spencer breathes. “I will.” From there, it ends up taking another few minutes until Spencer finally gains the courage to pick himself off the ground. The second his hands unwrap from his legs, they find a home in his pockets. The fact that there’s space inside of Spencer’s sweatshirt pocket puts him on edge.

Spencer feels like he’s about the throw up.

The feeling is somewhat helped when Spencer closes the door to the guest bedroom, and even further when he double checks that the curtains aren’t letting any street light peek in.

Eying his suitcase, Spencer reaches for more clothes, but pauses once his hand has touched the fabric. He won’t put on another layer. He doesn’t need to. Even though it’ll keep him safe, Spencer won’t put on another layer.

He told Delilah he wouldn’t.

Still though. The idea of better protection is enticing. 

Despite the fact that he has plenty of armor a foot away, Spencer forces himself to get into the bed without any of it. He folds up the full-sized blankets in half to offer better protection, and then tucks the edges under his body. Without thinking twice, Spencer drags the weighted blanket over his head.

Safe.

Through his tight shoulders and anxiety filled stomach, Spencer closes his eyes.

The night is filled with anxiety and fear, but Spencer’s somehow able to make it through. It feels like his lungs are barely able to function by the time he wakes up.

After rubbing a hand over his face, Spencer rips off the blankets from his body. The night hasn’t helped him at all, and he just wants to be somewhere else. If sleeping doesn’t help his brain, then maybe Spencer should just go somewhere outside of the room.

The rest of the Morgan household is quiet, even though the sun is up, which strikes Spencer as a little strange. Even when they’re sleeping, he can still usually hear Cloony’s labored breaths, or sometimes his nails across the wooden floors.

Spencer’s heart stops beating when he’s done stepping down the stairs.

On the floor, Cloony, the beloved dog, is dead. He lies gutted, blood spilling out and staining the grains of the wood below him. In shock, Spencer watches without blinking.

He turns his head to find Derek’s laptop on the counter, camera light on.

With a power Spencer didn’t know that he possessed, Spencer steps around the couch. If his heart wasn’t beating before, it’s now turned to stone. What feels like pure pain erupts from his chest, blooming out from his sternum.

On the ground, Derek lies, as dead as his dog. Beside him lies Savannah, mouth slightly open, a line of blood still flowing down. Spencer’s been working with murders long enough to know that she’s just died.

The worst part though, 

The worst part is their son, curled up in between them. It takes Spencer a second to even confirm that the little boy is dead.

However, the large puddle of blood is unmistakable. It could barely be considered a puddle. At this point, it could be a small lake.

“You finally picked one to die.”

Even before Spencer turns around, he knows who it is. “Raphael?”

“It was a good choice.”

If Spencer could breathe, he would’ve sucked in a breath. Instead, he nearly chokes. “No. No, no, no,” Despite his lack of lung function, Spencer can nearly feel himself begin hyperventilate. “No.”

“You’ve come a long way, Spencer.”

“No. No, no.”

Holding the revolver, that dreaded revolver, against his own stomach, Raphael counters, “It was God’s will. I’m glad that you’re finally accepting it.”

“No!” Spencer falls down to his knees, tears clouding his eyes as he attempts to find a pulse that he knows doesn’t exist. “No, no. Please,  _ please  _ don’t do this.”

There’s a huff from behind Spencer. “Get up, boy.”

Spencer’s lived long enough to recognize that voice. “Charles, no, no, I can’t-”

“Get up. Boy.” When Spencer doesn’t comply, Charles snarls, “You’re weak. You always have been.”

Tears falling like waterfalls from Spencer’s eyes, he questions, “Why? Why did you do it? Why did you kill them?”

“You don’t get it?”

“Get what?”

With a grin to rival the devil, Charles replies, “You finally let your guard down, boy.”

“W-what?”

“Don’t play coy. You know.”

Spencer looks down at his hands, but the important part is what he sees in the background. His feet, on the Morgans’ stained wood floor. His feet. Sockless.

“No!”

Raphael comes back, eyes empty and horrifying. “I had been waiting for a long time.”

“I- I don’t- I don’t get it.”

“Yes you do. You know exactly what happened.” With a grin that could rival the devil, Charles smiles, “You know what you did, boy.”

Sobbing, Spencer replies, “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t pick them- I didn’t pick them! I picked myself! Not them!”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Charles croons, picking up a tree branch that seemingly appeared from the couch. “You’ll join them soon enough. It’s all according to God’s plan.”

When he brings the tree branch down, Spencer instinctively covers his head, clenching his eyes closed, bracing himself for the impact. It never comes.

*

Spencer wakes up, swatting a hand away from his face. “Get off!”

“Whoa, whoa, okay. You’re fine, kid. You’re okay now,”

“Get away!”

“Spencer- no, no, no, Spencer, look at me. Look at me. I’m not near you, okay?”

Spencer can’t see much through the layer of tears in his eyes. “No, please don’t,”

“Spencer, I need you to look at me, okay? Take a deep breath, and-”

“Morgan?”

With a quick sigh of relief, Derek confirms, “Yeah, it’s just me. I need you to breathe.”

“Are you okay?”

Derek nods. “I’m fine. You’re fine too, okay? We’re all okay.”

“Hank?”

“Hank’s okay too. Same with Savannah. Everyone’s fine. You were just having a nightmare, okay? You’re fine now.”

Finally blinking away the wetness, Spencer looks up to see his friend, back against the wall, hands up like he’s surrendering. His eyes are full of fear, and Spencer knows that it’s from him. “A nightmare?”

“Yeah,” Derek quietly nods. “You’re okay now. It’s over.”

Clutching the blankets with a white knuckled grip, Spencer confesses, “It felt so real.”

“I know it did,” Derek tries to soothe, even though he doesn’t. Derek has no idea how real his own dead body was. “But it’s over now.”

“You’re okay?”

“I’m okay.”

Swallowing, Spencer shudders at how exposed he was, even if it was from a dream. “Please leave.”

Derek shakes his head. “I can’t do that if you’re not breathing,”

“I’m breathing.”

“Barely. You need to take some deep breaths, kid, okay? Nice ‘n big deep breaths.”

Not making any effort to do so, Spencer counters, “No, no, I need to…” With a frown, Spencer moves his feet under the blankets to ensure that they’re still covered. That they’re still protected.

“You need to take some deep breaths. Breathe with me, kid. We’re gonna go in and out, real slow, okay? Just follow my lead.”

Spencer tries his best to join Derek with his exaggerated breaths, but it’s easier said than done. On nearly every inhale his breath catches, and with every exhale, a shudder. He doesn’t feel like he’s getting anywhere, but at some point, he gets less light headed. “I’m sorry.”

Quickly, Derek shakes his head and replies, “Don’t be sorry. You have nothing,  _ nothing  _ to apologize for, got it?”

“I got you killed.” Spencer points out, feeling new tears begin to well up.

“Hey. Kid, look at me.” Derek waits until Spencer complies to continue, “I’m right here. I’m completely alive. I am standing here, in the flesh, got it? Nobody died, and it wasn’t your fault, you understand?”

“You were- there was so much blood-”

“It wasn’t real. It was just a nightmare.”

“It felt real.” Spencer replies, even though he knows he’s already said that. It’s the truth- he’s never felt anything as real as that dream. Hell, it felt more real than half the things he’s been through in actual reality. “Can I be alone?”

Derek scrunches his eyes. “What do you mean?”

Looking down at his blankets, Spencer expands, “Like- like right now. Please? I- I don’t-” Spencer huffs at himself, wishing that he could just get the damned words out. He hates it. Why can’t he just talk like the rest of the people around him?”

Although he thinks on it for a few seconds, Derek nods. “I’m going to get you some water, okay? Is there anything else you need?”

Not trusting his ability to speak, or rather, lack thereof, Spencer just nods.

Spencer doesn’t watch Derek leave, but he can’t hear the click of the door, so he knows it’s been left open. It’s not an ideal situation, but Spencer will deal with it. 

To be fair, none of this is an ideal situation.

His heart still beats like a steel drum, and Spencer can’t do anything to stop it. Even though he’s not still hyperventilating, his chest still feels unsteady and out of his power. Spencer fears that even with a thousand layers, he won’t be able to get control of his chest back.

Humans can manually change their breathing, and can force lung muscles to contract and relax. Humans can’t do the same for the heart muscle. 

The heart is made out of smooth muscle, a type that the person can’t voluntarily control. It’s rather poetic, Spencer thinks. The heart isn’t a muscle anyone can control.

However, it doesn’t seem very poetic right now, as Spencer is still struggling to clear his blurry vision. At this point, he doesn’t know if it’s from his panicking or his tears. Probably a combination of both, if he were to create a hypothesis.

Spencer presses a hand against his chest, but he can’t feel his heart beat through his layers. It bothers him to no end, but he doesn’t move his fist.

His heart still continues to thump and thump and thump, and neither the severity nor the intensity get better, even after seconds go by. Spencer tries to slow his breathing down, tries to take a deep breath and focus on the room around him, but nothing helps.

There’s nothing he can do to get out of fight or flight mode.

As promised, Derek comes back with a glass of water, but Spencer’s too shaky to even trust himself to hold it. Plus, if he reached outside of the covers, Derek would see the fragile parts of Spencer’s unprotected hand.

So instead, Spencer settles for a forced smile. “Thanks.”

Derek resumes his position against the far wall crossing his arms over his chest. Spencer’s known him long enough to know that it’s one of Derek’s tells. He’s concerned, which isn’t much of a surprise. But more than that, he’s outwardly worried. Spencer’s rarely ever seen him like that.

“How’re you feeling?”

Spencer doesn’t have enough energy to lie. “Terrible.” He replies, halfway getting his voice back.

“How can I help?”

Sighing, Spencer shrugs. Unless Derek can find a way to make his heart slow down, there isn’t much he can do.

“Spencer?”

He shrugs again. There’s really nothing that can be done. He’s just going to have to deal with this himself. It’ll be fine. He’ll be fine. “I’ll be fine.”

Derek isn’t convinced, but he still concedes, “Okay. I’ll let you take some time to yourself. But you holler if you need anything, okay?  _ Anything.” _

With a swallow, Spencer nods. There’s no way that Spencer’s going to find his voice enough to yell across a house. Even on a good day, Spencer’s never been the best at yelling.

Spencer sinks further into the blankets when Derek leaves, but it still doesn’t help enough. Visions of dead friends and dead children still swim around his head, and no matter what Spencer tries to do, he can’t get them out.

Spencer wishes that this was one of his dreams that his eidetic memory takes a pass on. He knows that this isn't’ going to be one. Just like the horrific cases Spencer’s sorted through, the imagines of his nightmare lay behind his eyelids, waiting to strike at any given moment.

He takes a deep breath.

After spending the next hour and a half under the covers, Spencer finally convinces his own brain to extract himself from the bed. Spencer already feels his stomach flip and flop, but he pushes through it.

If only for the fact that he knows he’ll be seeing Henry and Michael today.

Derek and Savannah both glance at him from the table, but Spencer’s grateful when neither of them say anything. Derek does, however, give Spencer a bowl of cereal and a look that screams, ‘eat it all.’

The food makes Spencer feel a bit sick, but he knows that it’s helping. Hank, as per usual, loses most of his cheerios in the process, but it makes Cloony happy. Part of Spencer wants to perform an experiment to find the probability of any given Cheerio ending up in Cloony’s mouth rather than Hank’s, but he figures he’ll do that later.

That doesn’t stop him from doing a few preliminary calculations in his head. 

It’s a bit of a relief to be stuck in his head due to math and not anxiety, so Spencer doesn’t make any effort to zone himself back in. Unfortunately, he doesn’t have a choice when Derek places his phone in front of him.

With confused eyes, Spencer looks up and questions, “What?”

“‘S been buzzing all morning. Probably JJ.”

“Oh,” Spencer nods. “Thanks.”

Sure enough, he has a large amount of texts. It’s rather odd to Spencer, given that on a normal day he doesn’t get any if there’s not a case. They’re probably all from pity.

**Jareau → S. Reid**

**_Hey what time is good for you?_ **

**_Henry and michael are both already awake and excited to see their uncle spence_ **

Spencer can’t help but smile. It’s an involuntary action when it comes to thinking about his godsons though, so he doesn’t mind.

**Reid → J. Jareau**

**_How does a few hours sound? I have a few things I want to get done._ **

He doesn’t, but JJ doesn’t need to know that Spencer needs extra time to get his incessant anxiety under control.

The next text comes a moment later,

**Jareau → S. Reid**

**_Sounds good_ **

**_Ill text you when we’re heading over?_ **

**Reid → J. Jareau**

**_Are you also coming over?_ **

**Jareau → S. Reid**

**_Yeah_ **

**_Is that ok?_ **

**Reid → J. Jareau**

**_Definitely. I missed you._ **

**Jareau → S. Reid**

**_I missed you too xx_ **

**_See you in a few hours!_ **

Although Spencer is still a little scared about seeing his godsons, the excitement takes precedent. It’s been weeks since he’s last seen Henry and Michael, and Spencer misses them more than he thought he would. It’s comforting to know that they feel the same way.

Spencer checks the rest of his notifications while he still has his phone in hand, and isn’t surprised to see that he’s gotten another text from Emily. She sent it at almost 1 AM, which doesn’t alarm Spencer in the slightest. If there’s one thing he knows about his Unit Chief, it’s that she isn’t a morning person.

**Prentiss → S. Reid**

**_Just checking in_ **

**_Is tomorrow ok for talking?_ **

**_It wont be in the office_ **

**Reid → E. Prentiss**

**_Tomorrow works for me. Do I need to go anywhere?_ **

After a few seconds pass and Emily doesn’t respond, Spencer moves on to his next message. He knows that she’ll respond when she wakes up.

Surprising him yet again, the next text is from Luke.

**Alvez → S. Reid**

**_Hey we have some down time before the next case_ **

**_Do you have any free tiem to chat?_ **

**_*tiem_ **

**_**time lol_ **

Spencer frowns. Derek said that Luke wasn’t going to pity him. But what else could this mean? Luke’s never asked him for something like this. Luke also rarely mistypes texts, in fact, Spencer can count on his fingers how many times the other man has made a typo.

Something’s different with Luke’s texts, but Spencer can’t quite put his finger on it.

**Reid → L. Alvez**

**_I’m glad to hear that the team is getting at least a couple days off before a case. And yes, I have time to chat._ **

**_I’ll be talking with Emily tomorrow, but maybe after?_ **

What Spencer really wants to do is ask Luke why he wants to all of a sudden talk with Spencer, but he stops that train of thought.

**Alvez → S. Reid**

**_Great!_ **

**_Ok ill see you tomorrow_ **

Before Spencer even has time to reply, Luke sends another text.

**Alvez → S. Reid**

**_Jj said that shes gonna see you today so i wont bother you for any longer lol_ **

**Reid → L. Alvez**

**_That’s okay, you aren’t bothering me._ **

**Alvez → S. Reid**

**_Still i dont want to be distracting you_ **

Why would Luke be distracting him? It’s Spencer’s choice on whether or not he even checks his phone, so really, Spencer would be distracting himself. 

Spencer sighs. Most of his recent enigmas have stemmed from Luke’s texts.

Breaking him out of his thoughts, Derek announces, “You’ve got that look again,”

“What look?” Spencer asks, genuinely curious.

“The stink eye. I bet I can guess who you’re texting.” He grins at the end, making Spencer highly suspicious. “That’s rhetorical, by the way. I  _ know _ who you’re texting.”

“Who?”

“Luke.”

Spencer gives him a look. “How’d you know that?”

“I told you,” Derek answers, “You have that look goin’ on.”

Shaking his head, Spencer changes the subject, “That’s.. Not true. So JJ is coming over in a few hours with Henry and Michael. I told her that was okay, but I figured I should probably tell you, given that it’s your house, and now that I’m thinking about it I probably should’ve asked you before I sent that text-”

“Relax, Pretty Boy,” Derek interrupts. “You’re fine. Hank will be happy to have a buddy to play with that’s closer to the same age as him.”

“Does he not get that much?” Spencer asks, out of pure curiosity, rather than judgement.

Bobbing his head back and forth, Derek sighs. “Not as much as I got as a kid. You know, I had the whole neighborhood to play with? But now that I’ve dealt with all of the scum on the Earth, I’m a bit more weary of sending my kid out.”

Spencer nods. “I understand.” If anything, that’s the single most important thing that Spencer understands. “I would be scared too.”

Giving a weak chuckle, Derek adds, “Yeah. It’s way worse than I thought it’d be. The worrying, that is.”

“I’m sure that you’re protecting him the best you can.” Spencer soothes.

“Thanks, kid.” Obviously uncomfortable with the topic, Derek motions at the half filled bowl in front of Spencer, “You get enough to eat?”

“Yeah,” Spencer nods. “I’m not that hungry.”

Derek raises his eyebrows. “That seems to be a theme with you.”

“It’s true.”

“Hm.” There’s more that Derek wants to say, Spencer knows that much, but the older man doesn’t expand.

Before JJ arrives, Savannah heads out the door to the ER, leaving Hank with two tall playmates. There’s a strange game involving cars and dinosaurs that Spencer can’t seem to understand, despite his three PhDs.

It evidently makes perfect sense to Hank though, based on his happy giggles and highfives with his father. Spencer’s not sure if Derek understands, but he’s still happy to be a part of it, nonetheless.

Spencer’s excitement to see his godsons turns into fear the moment the doorbell rings, but he forces himself to not think about it. He forces himself to not think about all of the things that could go wrong, murders, assaults,-

“Uncle Spence!”

In the blink of an eye, two kids are suddenly running up to Spencer, before he can do anything about it. Luckily, JJ comes to his aide.

Grabbing Henry’s hand before he can get too far away, she announces, “Uh, boys. Spencer’s sick right now, so you can’t give him any hugs, okay?”

Spencer sighs with relief, and doesn’t even bother trying to hide it. There’s no point hiding it from the boys, and Spencer knows Derek and JJ can see through him no matter what he does.

Suspicious, Henry points out, “You don’t look sick,”

“Henry.”

With a single word scold, Henry awkwardly apologizes. “Sorry.” His face then lights up, “I get to do the science fair next year, and I already have ideas! You wanna hear about it?”

“Yeah!” Spencer nods, sounding as excited as the kid.

“Listen to me too!” Michael frowns, already prepared to fight for attention.

As per usual, JJ’s able to swoop in and save the day. “Michael, Hank’s got some new toys, do you want to play with him?”

Attention already forgotten, Michael scurries over to reach for the cars that aren’t currently in Hank’s hands. After a beat of uncertainty, Hank goes straight into an attempt to explain his game, littered with broken sentences. It’s rather endearing.

Pulling his attention back to the discussion on hand, Henry begins, “So the only rule is that we’re not allowed to make the baking soda volcanoes, but-”

“But those are boring anyway.” Spencer finishes.

“Yeah!” Henry grins. “I want to do something with chemistry though. And that’s what- that’s what you have one of your, uh,”

Nodding, Spencer supplies, “Doctorates,”

“Yep! That’s what one of your doctorates is on, right?”

“Mmhm.” Spencer confirms. “Have I ever told you what my thesis was on?”

“No. What was it about?”

From the side, JJ laughs. “I don’t think that your fifth grade level of science knowledge will be able to keep up with Spencer’s doctoral studies.”

“I bet I could understand!”

Spencer smiles at him, before questioning, “How much do you know about the tetrachlorocobaltate complex anion?”

Henry’s jaw drops just a little bit at the seven syllable word. “The… what?” He turns to his mom, who looks just as confused as him.

“Don’t ask me!” She laughs, putting her hands up. Turning to Derek, who’s beside the younger boys, she asks, “What about you, Morgan? What do you know about the, ‘tetrachloroform-’”

“Tetrachlorocobaltate complex anion.” Spencer interrupts, finishing the complex anion correctly, but not without a cheeky smile.

Smacking his tongue, Derek replies, “I’ll have you know, that I’m actually an expert on that topic.” At Spencer’s flabbergasted face, he quickly adds, “Sarcasm, Pretty Boy. I’ve never heard of it.”

Spencer smiles. “Well,” he begins, turning back to Henry, “When you’re older, you’ll be the first to know about the tetra-”

“Please don’t say it again,” JJ laughs.

“-chlorocobaltate complex anion.”

“Cool!” Henry exclaims.

All anions aside, Spencer gets into a bit of an interesting chemistry topic with Henry, pausing only to take sips of water so his voice won’t go. Henry’s never been bothered by his godfather’s animated hands, and Spencer soon finds himself feeling more and more comfortable, even when Henry sits a bit closer.

Eventually, a ‘snack break’ is declared, and all of the boys move faster than half of the unsubs Spencer’s had to catch. Evidently, food is a very good motivator.

Sitting down on the now free couch, Spencer lets himself bring up his legs to his chest, sighing from the relief that he only seems to get when he’s curled up in a safe ball. It’s short lived, however, when JJ takes a position on the far cushion of the couch.

“What happened to your hand?” She questions, cutting straight to the point.

Instinctively, Spencer moves it out of her field of vision, shielded by his body. “Oh. Um, nothing?”

She gives him an unamused look. “Spence. C’mon, what happened?”

Avoiding her gaze, Spencer admits, “I hit a mirror.”

“A mirror? Are you okay?” She glances up at the kitchen, making sure that her kids didn’t hear her whisper shout.

“I’m fine.” Spencer quickly replies. “Doesn’t even hurt.”

“Why were you hitting mirrors in the first place?” She whispers.

With a shy shrug, Spencer awkwardly admits, “I don’t know? It just sort of happened.”

“...Okay. What does that mean?”

Sighing, Spencer glances over to the kitchen. “My therapist thinks I found a trigger.”

“Like from PTSD?”

“I don’t know,” Spencer quickly answers, even though he does. He’s spent far too long with the newest DSM, trying to figure out what his head keeps creating.

JJ doesn’t look convinced, but she doesn’t push him. “Are you sure you didn’t hurt yourself too bad?” She asks, looking where Spencer’s not so expertly hidden his hand.

“Yeah, it’s,” Spencer takes a deep breath, “Fine. Savannah’s an ER doctor, so you know. Professional job, right?”

“Uh huh,” JJ rolls her eyes, but there’s still a twinkle there. “Anything else happen?”

“Like what?”

With raised eyebrows, JJ expands, “Like hitting mirrors?”

“No. Nothing like that.”

“So there is something?”

“Wait- what?”

JJ grins, and Spencer knows he’s in trouble. “You said, ‘nothing like that,’ which insinuates that something else happened. It just, you know, didn’t have to do with mirrors coming in contact with your fist.”

“Honestly, nothing else has happened. It’s just, I don’t know, weird living with someone else. Three other people, actually. I’ve never lived in a household this large.

With a sad smile, JJ nods. “It’s always weird when that changes. The house felt so empty without Roslyn for years after.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” JJ soothes. “There’s nothing that you could’ve done. Enough about that, though. How’s Hank? Are you liking spending time with him?”

Chuckling, Spencer confirms, “Yeah. It’s great.” Save for the times that Spencer has uncontrollable panic attacks regarding the safety of Hank. “He talks a lot. Most of it is pretty unintelligible, but I still like listening.”

“As much as Henry?”

“Oh, no,” Spencer laughs. “I don’t think any toddler will ever talk as much as Henry did.”

“Michael’s a lot more quiet. It was definitely a strange change that Will and I weren’t expecting. Nice, though.” She adds with a grin.

Spencer’s face falls. “Sorry I wasn’t there.”

“Spence, you were in prison. It wasn’t your fault.”

“Yeah.” Spencer replies, still feeling guilt flow through his veins. 

There’s a lull in the conversation, and Spencer awkwardly taps his fingers against his leg as JJ turns to face the kitchen, presumably watching her kids devour orange slices. After popping her lips, JJ eventually asks, “So, have you talked with anyone lately?”

Pressing his eyebrows together, Spencer goes into his head for a quick moment. What’s JJ trying to get at? “Yes? I mean the team has checked up on me.”

“Anyone in particular?”

“JJ, what-”

“Just curious.” She says, barely containing a giggle.

Still confused, Spencer honestly answers, “I got texts from you, Emily, Garcia, and Luke.”

“Ohhh,” She exaggerates with faux surprise. “And how did that go?”

“With who?”

Surprising Spencer, JJ bursts into laughter, unable to hold it in any longer. “Spence,”

“Yeah?”

“What did you and Luke talk about?”

Mutely, Spencer thinks that he’s never been this confused in his life. His first advanced mathematics lecture was easier to comprehend than this conversation. “I- not much. Why?” 

“Spence, you’re killing me here.”

Metaphor. What is he doing that’s bothering JJ? “He asked me if I wanted to chat with him tomorrow. Is that what you’re wondering?”

Reminding Spencer of a fond technical analyst, JJ nearly squeals.

“JJ, what’s going on?”

“Absolutely nothing.”

Spencer doesn’t need to be a genius to know that she really means the exact opposite. “I’m confused. Did Morgan set you up to this? Or Garcia?”

“Nope!” She replies, all too happily. Ignoring Spencer’s still rather confused look, JJ continues, “Are you going to go check your phone?”

“Why? Isn’t it considered rude to be on your cellphone when you have in person company?” Just when Spencer thinks he’s understanding neurotypical social norms.

JJ awkwardly shrugs. “Kind of? But I’m actively telling you to go for it. So. Go for it!”

Although he wants to be asking a plethora of other questions, Spencer doesn’t, and ends up standing to grab his cell from the kitchen counter, still plugged in by the toaster. 

Derek catches his eye on the way over. “What’re you doing, Pretty Boy?”

“JJ told me to get my phone.” He answers. “Do you know what this is about?”

Turning to the couch, he starts, “Jay- really? Really?” All he gets is a laugh in response.

Jaw opening a fraction of a degree, Spencer deduces, “You do know what this is about! What’s this about?”

Rolling his eyes, Derek replies, “Just grab your phone and go back to your godsons’ mom. I don’t want to get between this-”

“That’s a lie!” JJ calls out. “You most definitely do!”

“What is happening?” Spencer questions. All three of his godsons are having the time of their life watching Spencer be confused, and he’s half sure that they’re in on this too.

Once he’s sat back down, JJ holds out her hand. “Okay. Lemme see your messages.”

“Wha- no!”

“Okay, mister defensive.”

“Doctor Defensive,” Spencer murmurs under his breath. “And I don’t have anything to hide! I just. Don’t want you looking through my phone.” Or handing an object to someone because that could involve touching them, and he’s promised himself to not let his guard down, even on his fingers. But JJ doesn’t need to know that.

Conceding, JJ replies, “Fine, fine. So what’d Luke text you?”

“Just that he wanted to talk tomorrow.”

“Okay. Great! Text him back and say that you’re going to meet him at his house.” JJ says it so quickly that Spencer’s sure that he heard her incorrectly.

“What?”

“Trust me.”

Narrowing his eyes, Spencer asks, “What are you up to?”

“Okay,” JJ rubs her hands together, just like a nefarious movie villain. Snapping her fingers, she exclaims, “You want some privacy, right? You don’t want Hank or Morgan hearing this, right? Luke’s house is empty.”

“Wait, I thought we were just talking. Over the phone.”

“Oh, sweetie,” JJ gives him a pitying smile, but Spencer’s known her long enough to understand that she’s just playing. “What’s the exact words that he used?”

Without having to open his phone, Spencer replies, “‘Do you have any free time to chat?’ He also spelled ‘time’ wrong. Is that important?”

“Okay, Spence? He wants to meet with you in person.”

“How do you know that?” 

“Trust me.”

“Okay.” Well, it certainly made sense when he specifically used the word, ‘see’ a few texts later.

Nodding, JJ questions, “What’d you say back?”

“That I had time to chat. And then he ended the conversation because he said he didn’t want to be distracting me.”

Spencer watches as JJ’s eyes grow wide. “Aw, that’s cute. Okay. Text him back.”

“What do I say?”

“Tell him that you want to go over to his house to chat with him tomorrow.”

“I have to talk to Emily tomorrow,” Spencer weakly counters.

Unsurprisingly, JJ isn’t deterred. “So go after. Now chop chop.” She adds, nodding to the cellphone in his hands. When Spencer doesn’t move his fingers, JJ does a bit of extra coaching. “Just say that Morgan and Hank are too loud. It’s not even a lie, really.”

**Reid → L. Alvez**

**_Could I go over to your house tomorrow? Morgan and Hank are loud._ **

A few moments pass, before Luke replies.

**Alvez → S. Reid**

**_Yeah thatd be great!_ **

**_You dont mind dogs right?_ **

**_Its just roxy_ **

**_And i can kennel her if you want me to_ **

**_But shes really nice_ **

**_And completely trained_ **

“Spence, why do you look so confused?”

Looking up from his phone, Spencer explains with a frown, “He sent back a ton of texts. Why would he be worried if his dog bothers me?”

“He just doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“Oh. That’s kind of him.”

Raising her eyebrows, JJ agrees, “Mmhm. Now text him back.”

“You’re very incessant about this.”

“Spence?”

“Yeah?”

“Text him back.”

**Reid → L. Alvez**

**_I don’t mind dogs. Although there have been a few past experiences where dogs minded me._ **

**Alvez → S. Reid**

**_Im sure roxy will love you_ **

**_Like you_ **

**_Sorry that was weird_ **

**_See you tomorrow?_ **

**Reid → L. Alvez**

**_Yes. I’ll see you tomorrow, as well_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I won't lie, idk why I keep ending chapters with Luke's texts lol
> 
> ALSO THEY'RE FUCKING GAYYYYYY :DDDDD
> 
> Anyway. I hope you all are doing well, taking care of yourselves. As the story gets more and more tense as it comes to triggers and PTSD, make sure to take breaks if you need it, or just stop reading this story if needed. Your health is, and always will be, far more important than this novel. 
> 
> Much love <3 <3


	12. I Should Know Better By Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spencer talks to his friends and makes some realizations. Just not the realizations that Luke wants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gets very real. There are a lot of serious, adult conversations about mental illness, and I worked very hard to make sure that they were accurate. There are lines of dialogue as well as lines of Spencer's thoughts that are taken directed from the fifth edition of the DSM, regarding PTSD.
> 
> PTSD is a mental illness that occurs after a traumatic event, and many people who suffer from it have different symptoms from one another. Like many mental illnesses, PTSD can not be easily diagnosed with a simple test. PTSD is not something that only military veterans develop, but can happen to anyone, regardless of age. According to the DSM-V, adult PTSD can display as early as age six.
> 
> PTS, although slightly debatable, isn't actively categorized as a mental illness, because symptoms go away within a month- the main difference between PTS and PTSD. In this novel, I portray Luke as someone who has suffered from PTS, but also hint at the fact that it may be more serious than he's letting on, even drifting more toward the PTSD side.
> 
> Both PTSD and PTS are very real, and need to be treated as such. If I'm not doing justice in my novel, please let me know.
> 
> The average dog cannot, and should not, be considered a service animal. One of the reasons why people with service animals are treated so poorly, is because there is a large percentage of the population that lies about their animals, just to get them into certain places. In this novel, Roxy has certain training, similar to a service dog, but IS NOT CERTIFIED, and she will get treated as such. She will not get special access to places, because she is not a service dog. An animal that helps you calm down is not a service animal.
> 
> Service animals go through very copious amounts of work and training, and it's our job to not undermine them.

To no one’s surprise, save for possibly Hank, Spencer doesn’t fall asleep the next night. He barely even makes it to his own room.

Spencer’s not a night owl in the same way Emily and Garcia are, he doesn’t stay up because he enjoys the night sky, but instead because he’s afraid. Afraid of what will happen when he loses control of his own brain, his own thoughts, his own subconscious.

It bothers him to no end, and it has been since he was younger, the idea of not being able to control himself when he sleeps. In fact, it’s the main reason why Spencer even began lucid dreaming in the first place. To have power over himself.

But after the previous night’s dream, Spencer’s not going to take any chances.

He’s getting worse, he can tell.

After prison, Spencer stopped being able to control his dreams. Spencer could no longer mold and bend the world to his liking, which set him on edge. The only reason he could still handle it was because he at least knew he was dreaming. Spencer knew, for a fact, that he was asleep, and all of the things that he saw weren’t real.

Now though? As of last night, Spencer can’t even tell if he’s dreaming. Which of course, raises the question, how does he know that he’s not dreaming right now? Without the control over his own brain, Spencer knows that he’s going to lose all of the things that have kept him sane since he was a child.

It drives Spencer mad, the knowledge that he could be dreaming right now, and can’t do anything about it. 

Spencer eats on the couch, legs still pulled up to his chest, and even when the rest of the Morgans go to bed, he stays downstairs. It’s comforting, knowing that he has control over when he goes to bed, at least. It’s the small victories that keep him sane.

He’s used to the sounds of the night, especially in residential areas. At some point during the night, the tires of cars begin to sound comforting, rather than anxiety inducing. Spencer figures that he’s too tired to think of all of the wicked people that could be inside the cars. Still though. A victory is a victory.

Although Derek isn’t surprised when he finds Spencer awake on the couch the next morning, he’s still disappointed. They eat in relative silence until Hank wakes, and from then on, all of the tension has passed, and Spencer’s chest lightens just a little bit.

Without even realizing it himself, Hank has helped Spencer narrowly avoid a panic attack. Spencer’s all too grateful for it.

After eating half a bowl of cereal, Spencer’s caught up on talking with Emily. He knew that this would be coming, after all, he’s had days to prepare for it, but now that the conversation has actually arrived, Spencer doesn’t know what to think.

His stomach curls over itself, making Spencer wish that he didn’t eat anything for breakfast. That being said, the feeling isn’t foreign. Spencer knows how his body physically reacts to being anxious.

Logically, Spencer knows that nothing bad is going to happen. But, in all actuality, does he really know that?

The heat exhaustion could’ve been the straw to break the camel’s back, the final event to happen before Emily kicks him off the team. Where will he even go from there?

The FBI might not even want him anymore if the BAU doesn’t. Then he won’t even have a job, and soon enough he’ll lose his apartment and his friends, and then Spencer will be left all alone, trapped on the street with no one there to help him.

Spencer presses his opposite hand to the cuts on his knuckles. It’s a trick he’s learned from prison. The easiest way to ground himself is through pain. He knows what his therapist would think of this, but at the moment, Spencer doesn’t have any better ideas.

Sure enough, it only takes a few long seconds for Spencer to calm down enough to remember how to breathe again. Glancing down, Spencer winces when he realizes that blood has begun to seep through the gauze on his fingers.

It’s not exactly something that can be wiped off, so Spencer awkwardly shoves his hands in his sweatshirt pocket, going for nonchalance. He knows it doesn’t work, based on the unamused look by Derek. Luckily, the older man doesn’t bring it up.

With a new found strength, and the want to not have to be babied, Spencer declares that he’ll be taking the subway to Emily’s apartment. It’s a positive for all included parties.

Derek doesn’t have to drag Hank along or get a babysitter, and Spencer doesn’t have to awkwardly sit in the car, pretending that he’s not three seconds away from a mental breakdown. In the subway system, Spencer’s one of the best dressed and probably one of the most mentally stable people, so he fits in just fine.

He knows that Emily won’t be happy when she sees him wearing a sweatshirt on top of a sweater on top of another shirt, but Spencer’s not about to shed his protection for a visit. Besides, she’s probably expecting it. At least Spencer can hide his numerous layers of socks underneath his pants and shoes.

Emily opens the door wearing a tank top, violently reminding Spencer most people wear thin layers in the summer. They both pretend that they don’t notice the large difference between their clothing.

Motioning to her kitchen, Emily offers, “Coffee?”

With a nod, Spencer accepts, “Yes, please.”

“How much sugar?” She asks with a smile.

Biting the insides of his mouth, Spencer replies, “Uh, actually, however much. I don’t really have a preference.”

“Is that so?”

“Since prison.” Spencer answers the unspoken question, not having enough brain power to beat around the bush.

After Emily sets a mug in front of Spencer, handle on the left, they sit in silence, occasionally sipping. Sergio ends up coming over, rubbing the side of his body against the chair leg, and then Spencer’s actual leg.

Unlike human touch, Spencer doesn’t mind.

He’s glad when Emily’s the one to break the silence. “So. Let’s talk.”

“I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

Squinting, Spencer replies, “I’m not exactly sure. Everything?”

“Okay, well,” Emily shakes her head, “You don’t have to apologize. I’m sure that if you could, you wouldn’t have given yourself heat exhaustion.”

“Yeah.”

“How’s therapy going for you?”

“Um,” Spencer pauses, trying to settle on the right word. “Good? I think, at least. I’ve only been twice, and really, cognitive behavioral therapy works in the long run, so it’s pretty much impossible to tell how it’s going now.” When he looks up, Emily just smiles at him.

“Are you happy with your therapist?”

“Yes. Why?”

Shrugging, Emily offers, “Just wondering if you’d prefer an FBI psychologist. Since they’re more used to the things we go through.”

“Actually, it’s nice to have something outside of the FBI.” Spencer truthfully answers.

Emily nods in agreement. Then, setting down her mug, she announces, “Okay, Spencer. Here’s the deal.”

If she sees Spencer pale, she doesn’t mention it.

“As of today, you have a month off for medical leave. In a few weeks, we’ll talk again, get input from your therapist, all that good stuff, and evaluate whether or not you can go back in the field, okay?”

Digesting the information, Spencer questions, “Can I still work cases from Quantico?”

“No.” Emily shakes her head.

Spencer’s grateful for the fact that she didn’t try to soften the blow. He’s always done better with straight facts. “When will I be able to?”

“I don’t know yet. Not within the next month.”

“Okay.” Spencer quietly answers, looking down into his coffee cup. Sergio continues to circle around his chair, grounding Spencer whenever he rubs his nose against Spencer’s leg. It’s a surprisingly calming feeling.

Taking a breath, Emily asks, “How are you liking living with Morgan?”

“It’s good,” Spencer shyly smiles. “Hank’s really fun.”

“I’m glad.” She genuinely muses. Then, nodding to Spencer’s hand, she asks, “You want new gauze? You’re bleeding through.”

Jerking his head down, Spencer hisses. “Sorry, I didn’t even realize.”

“Hey, Spence. It’s all good.” She quickly soothes. “I’m not mad. Do you want a clean bandage?”

Slowly, Spencer nods. “Yes. Sure.”

The second she stands up, Sergio immediately follows her, giving a quick meow. Looking down, Emily fondly replies, “I’m not getting you food, little bastard. You’ve already eaten.” Despite her words, she still reaches down to give him a few scratches on the ears.

“Did you know that the word, ‘bastard’ is a common word in all Latin derived languages?”

“Really?”

“Yep.” Spencer nods. “It comes from Medieval Latin, ‘Bastum.’ And then the French ended up taking it and turning it into ‘bastard.’”

From the bathroom, Spencer can hear Emily laugh. “I’m glad that I can call my cat a bastard different ways, now. What’d you say? Bastum?”

“Yep. Also ‘bastardus’ works.”

Holding the gauze in her left hand, Spencer watches as Emily crouches down to give Sergio more pets along his face. “You’re a little bastum, you know that? Baby bastum.” After sitting back down at the table, she fondly notes, “Sergio’s the only man for me.”

Spencer smiles at her. “You told Hotch the same thing, did you? Seven years ago?”

“I don’t know how you know about that,” Emily nods, “But yeah. The higher ups didn’t appreciate it as much.”

Even as she unwraps gauze, Spencer grins.

After Emily’s done rebandaging Spencer’s fist, they both settle back down, idly drinking coffee. For a second, Spencer can almost believe that it’s just a friendly chat between two friends. Of course, all of that goes down the drain when Emily speaks up again.

“Morgan told me about what happened to your hand.”

“I figured.” Spencer admits.

With raised eyebrows, Emily questions, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really.” Spencer shakes his head.

Bringing the mug back up to her lips, Emily just shrugs. “Fine with me. So what are your plans, today?”

Ready to gauge her reaction, Spencer sets his mug down and replies, “I’m going to see Luke after this.”

Unsurprisingly, Emily has a similar reaction to JJ and Derek. “Is that so?” She asks, hiding part of her face behind her mug- a trick that Spencer usually takes advantage of.

“Why is everyone acting so weird every time I mention Luke?”

Holding in a laugh, Emily replies, “Don’t worry about it.”

“You’re making me worry about it,” Spencer murmurs.

“You’ll probably figure it out today.”

Spencer scrunches his eyes. “What does that mean?”

“I don’t know,” Emily shrugs, “You’re the genius, I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

“I’m not a genius when it comes to human interaction,” Spencer points out.

Waving a hand in front of her, Emily easily replies, “Eh, you’ll be fine. So when are you going to go see him?”

“Probably right after I get done talking with you.”

Smiling, Emily muses, “Well then I shouldn’t keep you waiting, should I?”

“I’m confused.”

With a short laugh, she gives a simple, “Don’t be.” Sighing, she starts up again, “Okay, important talk. You can’t consult on any cases for the next month, okay? And I’m going to make sure that Garcia isn’t telling you anything, got it?”

“Got it.” Spencer nods, glad to continue a conversation that he actually understands.

“Second thing, you have to keep going to therapy. No excuses.”

Frowning, Spencer points out, “I wasn’t going to make any excuses.”

“Good! That makes both of our jobs easy. Okay third thing. You have to keep living with Morgan. I just don’t feel safe having you live by yourself with all of your clothes.”

“I understand.” Spencer truthfully answers. “Besides, I don’t think my therapist wants me to be living alone either.”

With a raised eyebrow, Emily notes, “Smart woman.”

“Yeah,” Spencer absentmindedly answers. “Am I still going to be lecturing?”

Cocking her head to the side, she replies, “I don’t know. Do you want to still lecture? Because it’d still be possible.”

“I’m not sure,” Spencer admits. “I don’t think so.”

“Okay,” Emily nods. “You don’t have to. Besides, we’ll probably have to adjust your hundred days in/thirty days out when things clear up anyway.”

Spencer nods, knowing it’s true. “Okay.”

“But don’t worry about that now.” She quickly puts in. “That’s a problem for future us. And right now, present us just need to worry about drinking coffee with my bastard cat.” She fondly adds, smirking at Sergio, still half eying his empty food dish.

Taking another sip of coffee, Spencer notes, “Good for present us.”

Emily laughs, finishing her own cup.

Tired as he is, it doesn’t take long for Spencer to drink all of his coffee, and he’s already wishing for more. He knows that caffeine causes more anxiety, especially on an empty stomach, but he doesn’t really care about that side effect at the moment. Right now, he just cares about the fact that he needs to stay awake and alert. 

That being said, he still doesn’t ask Emily for more coffee. That would be far too suspicious, especially for a profiler.

As Spencer leaves, giving a pat to Sergio, Emily sends him off with, “Say ‘hi’ to Alvez for me, ‘kay?”

“I will.” Spencer nods, before the door shuts behind him.

Despite the extra caffeine in him, or perhaps because of the extra caffeine in him, the next subway ride isn’t too bad. It’s far longer than his first, but there’s something strangely comforting about the subway, once he’s found a place to stand away from everyone.

Spencer knows that the subway system  _ should  _ be the worst place for him, and whatever mental illnesses he’s sporting, but it’s so familiar it’s soothing. He’s been riding the subways since Quantico, and he knows exactly how they work.

The sounds around him are familiar, and the same homeless people for the last five years are still living on the benches beside the tracks. The crowded, smelly place, feels like home. It’s weird, but not unwelcome.

Luke lives far, Spencer knows this, but it feels further away than the first time when he went to Luke’s house. Spencer feels the anxious jitters come when he’s halfway there, but he pushes them down. If there’s one thing he doesn’t want, it’s for Luke to know how much of a mess he is.

Then again, based on Austin, Luke probably already knows how much of a mess Spencer is. It bothers him more than he thinks it ought to.

The neighborhood that Luke lives in reminds Spencer of the nice neighborhoods that some of his classmates lived in when he was in elementary school. The sidewalks are barely cracked, and nearly every yard has grass that’s been recently trimmed. At the very least, it’s obvious to Spencer that every front yard has been landscaped within the past decade.

Even if he wasn’t a profiler, Spencer knows that he would realize how wealthy this area is. Walking along the road, Spencer wonders what any onlookers would think of him. He doesn’t exactly look like he belongs.

He doesn’t have much time to muse on that fact though, because suddenly his feet have brought him right in front of Luke’s door. Before he can regret anything, Spencer covers his good hand with his sweatshirt and knocks a few times.

After living with Cloony for almost a week, Spencer recognizes dog nails on the wooden floors before he hears Luke’s heavy steps.

When Luke opens the door, Spencer choses to look down at Roxy instead.

She’s far younger than Cloony, hair still vibrant, tail dramatically wagging from side to side. Roxy knows better than to jump up on a guest, but she’s excited enough that she’s barely able to stop herself.

Spencer takes a worried step back when she shoves her snout in his hand, practically managing to pet herself with Spencer’s limb. He doesn’t have much experience with dogs, but Roxy’s acting like Spencer’s her favorite person.

It’s only when Roxy gives a whimper that Spencer looks up to Luke in alarm. After realizing that he hasn’t even said anything yet, Spencer awkwardly greets, “Hi.”

“Hey,” Luke grins, before setting his hand on his dog’s back. “Rox, why don’t you give Spencer some space, okay?”

As a response, she whimpers again.

Although Spencer looks rather confused, Luke’s eyes scrunch together. “Are you hurt?”

Caught off guard, he hastily replies, “I- uh. No. I’m not hurt.”

“Your hand…?”

“Oh.” Spencer dumbly responds, looking down at his bandaged fingers. “It’s really nothing. Doesn’t even hurt.”

“It’s bleeding though, right?”

Not understanding what Luke’s getting at, Spencer answers, “I guess? I think I might’ve broken a few scabs. Why?”

Nodding at his dog, Luke replies, “Roxy smelled it. You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah.” Spencer blinks.

“Okay cool.” Luke nods. They both look at each for a long few seconds before Luke quickly takes a step backward, nearly falling over his own feet. “Sorry. I should’ve- come in. Please.”

Roxy continues to follow Spencer all of the way to the couch, before sitting down beside him on the ground, eyes begging to be pet. Spencer easily obliges, much to Roxy’s delight.

Grinning, Luke points out, “She already loves you. You don’t mind her, right?”

“No. She’s nice,” Spencer answers. “Most dogs don’t like me.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, Roxy gives a good judgement on people, so if she likes you, the other dogs are probably missing out.” Luke frowns after he closes his mouth. “Sorry, that probably didn’t make much sense.”

Spencer looks up at him with a shy smile. “It’s okay. I understood what you mean.”

“Cool.” Luke nods. “So, uh, do you want anything to drink? Or eat?”

“I’m good.” Spencer answers. Biting his lip, he quickly asks, “Hey, I have an odd question for you,”

“Go for it,”

“JJ really wanted me to come here. Do you know what that’s about?”

Spencer watches as Luke opens his mouth to respond, before closing it, and opening it once again. “I think so? It’s honestly…” Luke wrings his hands out. “I don’t really know.”

Nodding, Spencer replies, “Oh. Okay.”

They sit in silence, save for Roxy’s tail thumping on the floor, before Luke speaks up again, “I know I keep asking this, but, how are you?”

With a swallow, Spencer answers, “I’m doing well.”

“Yeah? I’m- I’m really glad to hear that.”

“Me too. Sorry if I worried you.”

“It’s okay.” Luke answers. “I’m just glad that you’re doing okay now. Or- better?”

Smiling, Spencer nods, “Yeah, I’m doing better. How are you?”

Eyes wide from surprise, Luke quickly answers, “Oh, I’m good. Great. But l wasn’t the one in the hospital, you know?

Giving a nervous chuckle, Spencer agrees, “That’s very true.”

“Emily didn’t really tell us what happened. You didn’t have to go back to the hospital when she sent you home, right?”

“No.” Spencer shakes his head. “I just went straight to Morgan’s.”

“Good- that’s good. I know how much you hate hospitals.”

With scrunched eyes, Spencer questions, “You do?”

“Yeah,” Luke nods with a motion of his hand. “But I mean, I’m sure that most of the team also knows.”

“That obvious?” Spencer questions, looking up.

“Nah.” Comes the quick response. “Or at least, I don’t think so? To be fair, you are on a team full of profilers, so…”

Nodding, Spencer muses, “That’s true. Can’t exactly keep much from them.”

“Yeah.” There’s another long pause in the conversation before Luke suddenly announces, “Hey, I’m gonna grab some coffee. You want some?”

“Sure,” Spencer nods.

When Luke stands up, he turns his attention back to Roxy, who’s currently looking at Spencer like he’s her entire world. It’s a nice feeling. She drops her nose and head on the cushion beside Spencer, and doesn’t even try to hide her puppy eyes. And who is Spencer to deny her scritches?

By the time Luke comes back with two mugs, Roxy is nearly drooling on Spencer’s hand. Luke grins at them, and when Spencer sees him, he gives a sheepish smile back.

“She really likes you, huh?”

Looking back down at the dog, Spencer nods, “I guess so.”

“She’s not bothering you, is she?” Luke asks, suddenly alarmed.

Spencer’s quick with his reply, “No, no. She’s fine. She’s good.”

Luke nods. “Good. Uh, coffee?” He adds, holding out a mug.

Nodding to the coffee table in front of them, Spencer replies, “You can just set it down.” Handing things and passing objects is a dangerous game that Spencer doesn’t really want to play. There’s a large chance that fingers will brush, which makes him shudder.

The two of them are quiet for a few seconds, but Roxy doesn’t seem to notice the silence. She continues to happily wag her tail, seemingly having the best time of her life.

Blowing on the surface of his coffee, Luke speaks up, “Can I ask you a personal question?”

Although not without hesitation, Spencer answers. “Sure.”

“Back in Texas,” Both Spencer and Luke swallow, “You uh, you,” Luke frowns. “Sorry. I really don’t need to be asking this.”

Spencer doesn’t know how to respond, but he still tries to. “I’m sorry if I worried you.”

“Don’t apologize,” Luke quickly insists. “You honestly don’t have anything to apologize for. I’m just glad you’re okay.”

“Me too.”

“Besides, I’m not the only one that was worrying anyway.”

Spencer grabs his coffee from the table, just to do something with his hands. “You were the only one that texted me,”

“Really? I thought Emily did.”

Awkwardly backtracking, Spencer nods, “No yeah, she did. JJ and Garcia did too-”

“So then why’d you say that I was the only one?”

Explaining his thought process is something that Spencer’s never been able to do in his entire life. “I just meant… I guess I was expecting it from the girls, you know? They’ve known me the longest, so it makes sense that they’d be worried.”

After a beat, Luke questions, “Was it okay that I texted you?”

“Yeah, of course!” Spencer answers, a little too quickly. “I was… It was- sorry.” Spencer huffs to himself, attempting to get his brain in order. “It was kind of you.”

Luke nods. “I wish I could’ve seen you off to the hospital.”

“You didn’t?”

“No,” He shakes his head, “They wouldn’t let me ride in the ambulance.”

“Oh. I don’t remember.” Spencer looks down at Roxy, which suddenly seems like the only thing that’s stopping his brain from going into overdrive.

“What do you remember?” As soon as the words come out of Luke’s mouth he winces, instantaneously regretting it. “You don’t have to answer that, by the way.”

Biting the inside of his mouth, Spencer replies, “No, it’s okay. I don’t mind. I just kind of remember that you were trying to take off my clothes,” Spencer pauses, before letting a laugh out. “It sounds weird when I say it like that.”

Luke also chuckles with him. “I guess it kind of does, doesn’t it?”

“I wasn’t going for an innuendo,” Spencer awkwardly supplies, before his smile falls. “And then I just remember being, I’m not sure, scared? I guess? And then I woke up in the hospital, with Emily sitting in the room with me.”

After nodding, Luke stays quiet, occasionally sipping coffee and setting a hand in Roxy’s fur. “Did I- um- I didn’t do anything wrong, right?”

“What do you mean?”

“I didn’t make anything worse for you, did I?”

Spencer’s not used to Luke’s self-conscious side, and he’s pretty sure that nobody else on the team has really seen it either. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” He insists, even taking a chance by looking at the other man’s face. “I know you were just trying to help.”

Luke gives a nervous laugh. “I thought I was making things worse, you know?”

“You weren’t.” Spencer quickly protests. “I promise you weren’t. It’s just,” Spencer swallows, giving an awkward hand motion in the air, “My head.”

“Are you feeling better now?”

“From a week ago? Definitely.”

Even though he was trying to avoid it, Luke finally caves and asks, “What happened to your hand?”

“I uh, got in a fight?”

“A fight?” Luke reiterates, an eyebrow raised.

Nodding, Spencer finishes, “With a mirror.”

Luke grins, before his face falls flat. “Jesus, Spencer. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. It was just a sudden thing, I guess.”

“I’m glad it stopped bleeding.”

Spencer gives him a confused look. “What do you mean?”

“When you opened the door,” Luke begins to explain, “Roxy smelled it. But she doesn’t anymore. So. It’s not bleeding anymore, right?”

“I don’t think so. How did Roxy know?”

“She’s trained to smell it,” Luke replies, before moving his head in front of his dog. “Isn’t that right, girlie? You’re such a good girl, yes you are!”

Evidently understanding his words, Roxy looks up to lick Luke, tail wagging excitedly. Grinning, Luke gives Roxy quite a few rubs on her back, scratching behind her ears. 

Spencer can’t help a smile to come to his face from the display. “Is she a service dog?”

Taking his eyes off his dog, Luke shakes his head. “Not officially, no. But we’ve done a lot of training. She knows more than the average dog.” Then, turning back to her, Luke confirms, “Isn’t that right, Roxy? You’re so smart! Yeah! Super smart!”

Spencer continues to grin, just from being in proximity of their happiness.

“She’s smarter than me, you know that?”

Thinking in the back of his head, Spencer questions, “Is that an exaggeration? Because based on brain size, that probably isn’t true. Although, like humans, dogs have IQs of different ranges. So if you’re speaking in relative terms, that could be true.”

Surprising Spencer, Luke laughs. “Calling me stupid?”

“Wha- no!”

“Relax, I’m just joking with you. Not about her being smart though.”

Without knowing exactly what to say, Spencer replies, “You’re intelligent.”

“Not compared to the two other beings in the room,” Luke chuckles.

“Thanks? I think.”

With a bright smile, Luke replies, “You’re welcome. I’m sure of it.”

Spencer looks down at his lap from embarrassment, awkwardly laughing.

A few moments pass, and Roxy decides that she’s done sitting by the couch. Both Luke and Spencer watch as she trots away, first to her water dish, and then to the doggy door to the backyard.

“When do you get to go back to work?” Luke questions, turning back to Spencer, whose eyes are still on the doggy door.

It takes Spencer a few moments to tear his eyes away, landing on his hands in his lap. “I’m not sure.” He admits. “Not within the next month, at least.”

“Oh. Damn.”

“Why?”

“Uh- curious.” Luke answers, quickly covering his tracks. 

Spencer nods, before expanding, “I won’t be able to consult on any cases either for the next month, even from Quantico.”

Luke gives a sympathetic whistle. “Damn, that really sucks. Gonna get a hobby or something?” Eyes raised, he adds with a smile, “I’d highly recommend getting a dog.”

Spencer grins, eyes still on his hands. “At the moment, I think all of my hobby time is going to be taken up with therapy.” He then swallows, before asking, “Can I ask you a personal question as well?”

“Yeah, of course,” Luke nods. “It’s only fair.”

“You’ve…” Spencer frowns, attempting to untangle his words. “Been to therapy, right?”

Luke confirms. “Yeah. After I got discharged I did a lot of therapy. Saw a lot of people. Professionals.”

“Do you still?”

“Only as needed. Not a weekly thing anymore.” They both become quiet, listening to the ambient noises outside. Eventually, Luke speaks up again. “Are you worried about therapy?”

Evading his question, Spencer replies, “You know, I’ve actually only gone to a nonessential therapy appointment twice in my life.”

Luke isn’t sure where he’s going with this, so he just nods, letting Spencer take control of the conversation.

“I didn’t go long enough to get an actual diagnosis.”

“Is that what you’re worried about?”

Biting his cheek, Spencer replies, “There are eight different diagnostic criteria for PTSD in adults, according to the fifth edition of the DSM.”

“...Do you think you have PTSD?”

“Criteria A: exposure to actual or threatened death, serious injury, or sexual violence in one or more of the following ways,”

Eyebrows becoming pinched, Luke tries, “Spencer, you don’t have to-”

“One: directly experiencing the traumatic event or events. Two: witnessing, in person, the events as it occurred to others. Three: learning that the traumatic events occurred to a close family member or close friend. In cases of actual or threatened death of a family member or friend, the events must have been violent or accidental. Four: experiencing repeated or extreme exposure to aversive details of the traumatic events, for example-”

“Spencer stop.” Luke interrupts, feeling his own chest begin to tighten.

Spencer looks up at him, expression completely unreadable. A second later, he looks away. “Sorry.”

Luke swallows. “Are you worried about getting diagnosed?”

“As long as I’m not diagnosed, I can just pretend it doesn’t exist, right?”

With a sad smile, Luke shakes his head. “Spencer, you know that’s not how it works.”

Without enough brain power to follow a conversation like a neurotypical would, Spencer replies, “I fit in seven of the eight criteria for PTSD in adults.”

“Even months after getting back home, I still dealt with PTS. I fit nearly all of the criteria, to the dot of an eye.”

Spencer doesn’t know what that means, but he can easily deduce the metaphor based on the rest of the statement. “PTS doesn’t last.”

“Not officially, no.”

That causes Spencer to look up.

“It helped though.” Luke replies, not meeting the other man’s eyes.

“What did?”

“Therapy. If you think you know what’s causing problems, you should probably bring it up, you know? To your therapist. If you really do fit all of those conditions.”

“I don’t want to fit in all of the criteria.” Spencer quietly replies, not caring that he probably sounds far too childish.

Luke sympathetically nods. “But it’s not going to get better unless you’re actually being treated for the right things.”

The two of them are quiet, once again. It’s a long two minutes until Spencer clears his throat. “Sorry. I’m aware that topics like this shouldn’t be spoken about in social settings.”

With a hollow laugh, Luke replies, “I don’t give a damn about social construct. That’s why there’s such a stigma around PTSD, you know? ‘Cause no one talks about it.”

“I’ve never cared much for social constructs either.” Spencer admits. “Though I think it’s for different reasons than you.”

Luke smiles at him, huffing out a quiet laugh. “Can I bring Roxy back in?”

Nodding, Spencer confirms, “Of course. It’s your house, after all.”

A minute later finds the two of them petting Roxy, who’s thoroughly enjoying herself and all of the pets she’s gotten in the past hour.

It’s only after a few seconds when Spencer suddenly withdraws his hand.

“Are you okay?” Luke asks.

With a swallow, Spencer nods. There’s no easy way to tell Luke that he’s suddenly freaking out because his hands were far too close to another person. His  _ exposed  _ hands. One of the two parts of Spencer without armor, and they’re nearly inches away from Luke.

Logically, he knows that Luke’s not a wicked person, Luke’s not going to hurt him, but the back of his head says otherwise. A constant reminder that bad things happen when Spencer lets his guard down.

When he shifts away from Luke, neither say anything about it.

Pressing his lip between his teeth, Spencer muffly announces, “I think I should go.”

Luke looks up, rather confused. “Okay. I didn’t do anything, did I?”

“No.” Spencer quickly shakes his head. “I just- I should get back home. Well, not  _ home  _ home, but. Back to the Morgans.”

“...Do you want a ride?”

Spencer’s entire body screams out to decline a ride, but he knows that it’ll make his travel go much faster. Besides, being around one person, even in close proximity, can’t be as bad as the rest of the subway.

Evidently, he’s taken too long to reply, because Luke adds, “You don’t have to, by the way. There’s no pressure.”

“I would like a ride.” Spencer answers.

“Cool.” Luke nods, before his brain actually understands the words. “Right! Okay, I’m going to go grab my shoes and keys. Then we’ll get going.”

“Okay.” Spencer replies, standing up from the couch, which catches Roxy’s eye. 

The drive home is far more awkward than the rides with Derek. Spencer thinks that it’s probably because he doesn’t know the other man as well, but his brain tells him a different story.

The real problem is that Luke knows him too well now. In the span of less than an hour, Luke already knows more about Spencer than the majority of the people in his lifetime. He thinks that only JJ could rival the knowledge of Spencer.

Spencer’s mouth is pulled into a perpetual frown, and he stares out of the window, efficiently avoiding Luke’s gaze. At some point during the ride, Luke turns on the radio, and Spencer’s grateful for it. Although he hasn’t quite calmed down since almost touching the man, the quiet tunes help a bit.

As if getting dropped off to highschool, Luke parks on the curb in front of the Morgan house. Surprising Spencer, he turns the car off and takes the keys out of the ignition.

When Spencer wraps his fingers on the handle, Luke speaks up. “Hey, Spencer.”

Taking his hand off, Spencer turns. “Yeah?”

“I- um,” Luke frowns, and gives him a small smile. He knows how difficult talking can be. “Sorry,” Luke laughs, “I can’t figure out what I’m trying to say.”

“That’s okay.” Spencer replies. “I often find that it’s easy to ignore all of the rules of the English language and just get out the words exactly as you think them.”

Luke grins, before cowering and turning his head. Rubbing a hand over his forehead, he replies, “Uh, sorry. I- I must’ve already forgotten where I was going with this. I’m glad I got to see you. And I’m glad to hear that you’re doing better than in Texas.”

Nodding, Spencer agrees, “It was good to see you too. I’m also glad that I’m feeling better.” He reaches for the handle once again, but Luke’s voice stops him.

“Hey, I know it’s scary. But you might want to bring up to your therapist the things we talked about today.”

“Yeah,” Spencer fixes his eyes forward. “Yeah. I’ll see you later, Luke.”

“You don’t mind if I keep texting you, right?”

“I don’t mind.”

Luke nods. “Good. I just don’t want to be a bother.”

“I’ll tell you if you ever are.” Spencer suggests.

“Cool. See you later.”

“Bye.”

Spencer hates, more than anything, that when he steps out of the car he can finally take a full breath. There’s nothing about Luke, or his car, that Spencer should be afraid of, yet here he is, only being able to breathe outside of it.

When Spencer steps inside, Derek gives him a grin. “Hey, Pretty Boy. Anything exciting happen?”

Scrunching his eyes, Spencer replies, “Not really. Why?”

“No reason.”

“Oh.” He shakes his head, before sitting down on the couch. Cloony looks up from his dog bed, looking more tired than usual. For a fleeting second, Spencer misses Roxy’s excited look when she puts her nose on the couch.

Placing a glass of water in front of him, Derek questions, “Kid, you good? You look out of it.”

“I’m good.” Spencer confirms. “I just need to… think.”

Derek shrugs. “Go for it.”

_ Criteria A: Exposure to actual or threatened death, serious injury, or sexual violence in one or more of the following ways: _

_ One: Directly experiencing the traumatic event: _

Although Spencer only needs to fit in one of the four parts of Criteria A, he fits in all of them. He supposes that he’s always been a bit of an overachiever.

Spencer had been exposed to death at an early age. Not counting Riley Jenkins, Spencer dealt with dead bodies before he was even legally allowed to drink. At barely twenty-five, he killed a man, only a few feet away.

Out of everything Spencer’s gone through, the threat of death is something he experiences on a day to day basis. He’s been used as a negotiation tactic far more many times than he’d lie.

Spencer figures that being tortured, narrowly surviving anthrax, and shot in the neck counts as a serious injury.

Despite the fact that Spencer’s only reviewing the DSM-V through his eidetic memory, he wishes he could scratch out the words ‘sexual violence.’ It’s not something he wants to think about.

_ Two: Witnessing in person, the events as it occurred to others. _

Spencer’s been exposed to death of other people. That’s just a fact.

Spencer’s witnessed death threats to his friends, his family. To Maeve.

He’s witnessed serious injury in the countless number of victims and unsubs. He’s witnessed serious injury on his own family, laid up in hospital beds, tubes and machines breathing for them.

Spencer’s witnessed sexual violence more times than he can count.

_ Three: Learning that the traumatic events occurred to a close family member or close friend. In cases of actual or threatened death of a family member or friend, the events must have been violent or accidental. _

Spencer knows that Diana and William have witnessed actual death. He knows that all of his friends are rather used to murder.

Spencer’s well aware of the traumatic injuries that his friends have sustained as well. Realizing that your friend has been stabbed in the chest nine times can easily check that box.

Even though it was a decade ago, Spencer can still clearly remember the moment he learned what Buford did to Derek.

Taking a quick breath in, Spencer looks up, “Morgan, can I have a piece of paper?”

“Sure. Why?”

“Writing to my mom.” Spencer easily answers.

Internally, Spencer pushes the DSM-V away from the forefront of his brain. He fits in every single criteria for the first of eight sub-categories for PTSD. There’s still seven other letters, B, C, D, E, F, G, and H, that Spencer knows he’ll also fit perfectly in.

It’s a surprisingly scary thought.

_ Hi Mom. _

_ As always, I hope you’re doing well. _

_ I think I have PTSD. And I think I’ve had it for a long time. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((sorry for the very serious a/n earlier but i felt it was needed))
> 
> ohohheoheohe it's getting heckin' gayyyyy :D At this point I'm pretty sure this might turn into a slow burn, but that's not important- don't worry about it lol. Fear not- there will be requited love!
> 
> Other things to note: I'm getting to the last few weeks of my semester, and although I hope to have enough time to write, there's a possibility that I won't be able to. I apologize in advance if this happens!  
> Another thing: This novel, "The Charcoal in My Chest is Warmer Than My Heart", will be the first book in a series. I don't have enough room in this novel to tell Spencer's entire story, so there will definitely be another.
> 
> Have a wonderful day, pals!


	13. I'm Only Now Understanding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spencer makes a decision. He can either feel unprotected for the rest of his life, or make an effort to repair his own brain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whew! i am proud of myself for getting this chapter up in time. and now it's time for story time!
> 
> I woke up on Tuesday and went "Ah! What a wonderful day for writing :D," before looking out my door to see a few police cars. Curious as ever, a few houses down I saw more police, and crime scene tape, and the whole shebang. I honestly thought that a drug deal was seized or something like that.
> 
> Anyway.
> 
> Nothing, not even 15 seasons of CM could've prepared me for a detective ringing the doorbell and asking if we heard anything suspicious that morning, because there was a homicide.   
> A. Fucking. Homicide.  
> Someone got fucking stabbed like three houses down from me, and I didn't hear a thing. I was, admittedly, a little (read: a lot) freaked out, and didn't do any writing on Tuesday.
> 
> But all is swell because I was able to finish the chapter yesterday ohoho
> 
> Before we get into this- no this is not the end of Spencer's story, just the end of the first book
> 
> Okay enjoy! :D

Spencer is nothing if not resourceful. He’s not sure if it comes from his naturally gifted mind, or the things that he’s learned while living with a mom who would regularly throw out food. Whatever the case may be, he’s grateful for it.

So here he is. Being resourceful.

The chance of having a nightmare is far too great, but he knows how to fix it. And the best part of his plan: it doesn’t involve any human contact.

Dreaming occurs in the final stage of sleep, REM. If Spencer’s able to get away with never going into that final stage, he should be fine. That’s the plan at least.

It typically takes approximately two hours to reach REM sleep, though it’s varied from person to person. Outside of a few headache filled days, Spencer hasn’t done much research regarding his own sleep pattern. It’s quite hard to take notes while unconscious.

Playing it safe, Spencer decides to go for about an hour and a half of sleep. Sure, it won’t be sleep that will leave him well rested, but that’s not the point. The point is that he’ll be able to starve off exhaustion for at least another week or two.

Spencer sets a timer on his phone for an hour and half, and starts it the second his eyes close. Unsurprisingly, it doesn’t take long for Spencer to fall asleep.

And then, sure enough, he’s rudely awoken by his phone an hour and a half later. Spencer paces around the room to wake him up enough, and then repeats the cycle, keeping the alarm quiet enough to not wake anyone else in the household.

He continues it for the rest of the night, feeling little guilt toward himself.

As dawn finally peeks through the curtains, which still don’t cover enough of the windows as Spencer wants them to, Spencer turns off the alarm. He tells himself that it’s only for right now. When he gets the dream situation under control, then he can just forget about all of this.

In the back of his mind, he wonders what Maeve would think of it. 

However, in a truly ironic turn of events, Spencer then realizes that the only way he’d be able to get her input is if he actually decided to dream. 

For not the first time in his life, Spencer wonders where the hell he went wrong. He pushes the thought from his mind.

Much to Derek’s delight, Spencer ends up eating more cereal than he had been the previous days. Even Hank seems to be getting more Cheerios into his mouth, rather than into the forehead of his father.

The only one who isn’t happy about this is Cloony.

Of course, that doesn’t stop Hank from throwing a handful of cereal at his mom when she steps outside the door. While blowing a kiss, Savannah replies, “I love you too, Hank.”

Evidently thrilled at the realization, Hank gives a great big smile to Derek, who grins back. Even Spencer can’t help but smile at the domesticity.

For Spencer, the car ride to therapy is more tense than he thinks it should be. Luckily, when he sneaks glances over to Derek, he doesn’t seem to be that concerned. However, Spencer knows that Delilah will immediately pick up on it. 

After all, that’s her job.

As per usual, a few pleasantries are exchanged in the beginning of the appointment, plenty of “how are yous” and “good to see yous,” but afterward, Spencer grows silent.

Internally, Spencer knows exactly what he wants to say. The words are perfectly articulated on the tip of his tongue, but the second he opens his mouth, all of his literacy seems to instantly fail.

Delilah isn’t bothered by it, and attempts to lead the conversation. “Last time you mentioned your team. Do you want to talk about them again?”

Spencer scrunches his eyes, still trying to find the right words for himself. It’s frustrating, and Spencer wishes that he hasn’t been familiar with the feeling since he was in elementary school.

When he doesn’t respond, Delilah tries again. “You seem quiet today, Spencer. Not to sound like a stereotypical psychologist, but what’s on your mind? It must be something important.” She says it with a kind smile and concerned eyes.

Spencer opens and closes his mouth a few times, before just letting his thoughts out. “In the fifth edition of the DSM, there are eight different types of criteria for adult PTSD.”

Taking it all in stride, Delilah questions, “Have you been thinking of PTSD?”

“Criteria A: exposure to actual or threatened death, serious injury, or sexual violence in one or more of the following ways.”

“Have you read through the PTSD diagnosis in the DSM?”

Even though Spencer knows that he probably shouldn’t say it, he replies, “I’ve read through all of the DSM.”

“When was that?”

“Which time?”

To Delilah’s credit, she doesn’t give any obvious physical indication of her surprise. Unfortunately, Spencer’s a profiler, and can see all of the signs anyway. “How many times have you read the DSM?”

Rather than honestly answer, Spencer replies, “In all actuality, I only needed to read it once. I have an eidetic memory, and I can remember every single word that I read.”

“But you continued to reread it, correct?”

“I fit in nearly all of the criteria for PTSD, according to the fifth edition of the DSM.”

Delilah gives a shallow sigh. “Do you think you have PTSD?”

“I don’t know what to think,” Spencer replies. “Maybe.”

Nodding, Delilah announces, “I think that it would be a good thing to start thinking about PTSD, but for the long run, not right now.”

“Why not now?”

“There are other pressing matters I’d like to discuss right now,” She cryptically answers.

Spencer forces his jaw to unclench. “Like what?”

Taking the conversation in what feels like a completely different route, Delilah questions, “When was the last time that you took a shower?”

“Before Texas.”

“I’m worried about that,” Delilah plainly states. “Not being able to maintain personal hygiene is a bit of a warning sign,”

“A warning sign for what?”

“When my patients can’t adequately take care of themselves, I usually consider hospitalization.” Delilah answers.

Quickly, Spencer replies, “I don’t need to be hospitalized.”

“And I agree with you,” She starts, “But I think we need to start working on this. Then we can discuss PTSD, if you’d like.”

Spencer’s silent for a few moments, desperately wanting to curl into a ball and cover every bit of skin with his sweatshirt. Instead, he takes a shallow breath and points out, “I tried to take a shower earlier- I did.”

“I know you did. And I want you to try again.”

Spencer can nearly feel himself pale with the thought. He can’t shed his armor, he really can’t. If there’s one thing he’s learned from his life, it’s that he should never exist without his armor. “I can’t.”

Undeterred, Delilah continues, “Why don’t we try and brainstorm some ideas that might help you be able to shower.”

Internally, Spencer frowns. And given his lack of control over emotions, he’s pretty sure that his frown appears physically as well.

“From your last appointment, we deduced that the mirror was a bit of a trigger for you. Do you agree?” She says it in a way that doesn’t exactly leave room to disagree.

Slowly, Spencer answers, “I guess.”

“So why don’t we cover it?”

“What?”

With raised eyebrows, Delilah reiterates, “We can cover the mirror with paper, or even cardboard. Then you won’t have to see yourself.”

In his mind, all of Spencer’s thoughts pause. Why hasn’t he thought of that before? Despite his 187 IQ, the thought of just covering a reflective surface had never occurred to him. “I- yeah. That could ...work.” 

“You don’t seem too sold on the idea.”

Shaking his head, Spencer answers, “No, I’m just- I don’t know. Thinking about it.”

“Do you think this could help you?”

“Possibly, yeah,” Spencer truthfully answers.

“Would you be open to trying it?” Delilah questions.

With a slow nod, Spencer agrees, “I think so.”

“Okay,” Delilah nods, “Let’s think about what else might help you to take a shower.”

Spencer swallows. There’s no good way to announce that he can’t bear the thought of taking off all of his armor. If he’s without his protection, he’s in danger.

Pulling him out of his thoughts, Delilah starts up again, “I have another idea,”

“Okay?”

“You can try showering with minimal lights on, because I understand that seeing your body could also be a trigger. Before we know exactly what’s causing your anxiety, we can do a few things to help.”

Spencer pauses to think on it, before slowly nodding. “Okay.”

Cocking her head to the side, Delilah points out, “You don’t seem too thrilled about the idea.” She doesn’t say anything afterward, but it’s obvious she’s looking for a response.

“I’m fine with the idea.”

“Would you be willing to try taking a shower with these new ideas then?”

“Sure,” Spencer nods.

Delilah smiles. “Thank you. Even if it doesn’t work, we’ll have more to go on for next time, yeah?”

With a swallow, Spencer nods in agreement.

They’re both quiet for a few moments as Delilah scribbles a few notes down. Eventually, she looks up and questions, “Would you like to talk about PTSD now? I know that you have a lot of thoughts about a diagnosis.”

“How would I know if I have PTSD?”

“It’s not something that you just know, Spencer. There’s a lot of gray area in mental illnesses, and that’s just the nature of them. I know that you think you may be suffering from PTSD, do you want to tell me why?”

Frowning, Spencer points out, “I fit in nearly all of the criteria.”

“What are some of your symptoms? That is, symptoms that you believe are from PTSD.”

Spencer waits for a few seconds. “The problem is, I think I’ve been suffering from PTSD for longer than I originally thought. Now I don’t know what’s from trauma, and what’s from just me being me.”

With a nod, Delilah asks, “And are you thinking of any specific things?”

“I don’t really know,” Spencer haphazardly replies. “It’s… There are some quirks that may just be me.”

“What kind of quirks?”

“Like autistic quirks.”

“Sounds like you know what it’s coming from, then,” Delilah points out, looking a bit confused.

Spencer rubs both hands over his face. “I don’t know. I don’t understand anything that’s going on with me.”

Quickly, Delilah soothes, “That’s completely normal. That’s what I’m here for- to help you understand. Can you give me any symptoms that you think could be a by product of mental illness?”

Spencer bites his tongue inside his mouth, until finally building enough courage. “Anxiety.” It seems so simple when he says it like that. The single anchor that’s been holding him down for literal decades, all wrapped up into one little word.

“And anxiety is another thing that can have other symptoms. Is that what you’re confused about?” Delilah questions.

Looking at his hands, he replies, “There are so many symptoms that fit into so many illnesses.”

“It’s not just true for mental illnesses. The same thing happens in physical illnesses, it’s quite common, in fact. Do you think you could tell me a few more symptoms that you’ve experienced?”

Even though Spencer’s been living with his sick brain for his entire life, all of his knowledge seems to instantly leave. He suddenly can’t think of anything else that’s going on in his brain. Frowning, he tries, “Intrusive thoughts? But that could also just be from general anxiety,” Spencer adds on.

“I’m not worried about fitting symptoms into a diagnosis yet,” Delilah replies, “Knowing as many of your symptoms will help us, even if they could be piggy backing off of others.”

Spencer nods. “I panic easily?” Frustrated, Spencer huffs out, “All of these can just be from anxiety.”

“That’s okay, Spencer. Are there any symptoms that you’re experiencing that aren’t generalized?” Even as Delilah asks the question, she continues to write in the file.

“Symptoms like what?”

“You mentioned ‘quirks’ earlier,” She points out. “What are some quirks that you have?”

Pushing his lips to one side, Spencer admits, “I’m not good at communication. Or understand communication, but I think that’s because I’m autistic.”

“Have you ever been diagnosed?”

Spencer shakes his head. “No. Never had the time.”

With a nod, Delilah seems to accept that answer. “Any other quirks?”

Not exactly knowing how to segway into a new topic, Spencer replies, “I know I have at least one trigger.”

“Okay,” Delilah notes, “Do you want to tell me what it is?”

“Cooking fish.”

Spencer’s all too grateful when Delilah doesn’t even bat an eye. “Do you think you know where that comes from?”

“Yes.”

“And what is it?”

“A bad case in 2007,” Spencer answers, not in the mood to expand anymore.

Delilah on the other hand, seems all too eager to learn more. “And when you say ‘case’ you mean working in the BAU?”

It’s a fact. Spencer can handle that. “Yes.”

“Okay. What happened during this case?”

Spencer swallows, tucking his hands underneath his armpits. The Georgia case is nothing but a series of facts. Spencer’s good at facts. He can do it. “There was a series of murders, and in all crime scenes, the victims’ laptops were open with the camera on.”

“Did that worry you? Or make you uneasy about your own safety?” Delilah questions.

“No,” Spencer plainly states, before getting back into the facts, which he can most definitely handle. “The kills were almost ritualistic.”

Nodding, Delilah asks, “So you were sent to investigate these murders, and figured out that it was a serial killer?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me about them.”

Spencer’s stomach begins to make twists, small intestine wrapping around his stomach. “We originally believed it to be Charles Hankel. In a way, it was.”

Sensing his unease, Delilah sets her file and pen down, before speaking again. “Explain that to me.”

“Tobias Hankel never killed anyone.”

“I don’t think I’m quite following, Spencer. Can you explain to me who Tobias was?”

Quietly, Spencer replies, “He was the one trying to help me.”

“This case became personal for you,” Delilah easily deduces. “You said it was in Georgia, right?” After Spencer’s nod, she continues, “Do you have any history in Georgia?”

Spencer drops his head. “No.”

Delilah’s quiet for a few moments before asking, “Was this case one of the times that you had to go to two mandatory counseling appointments?”

“Yes.”

“Did they help?”

Spencer could laugh. Nothing helped after Georgia. Nothing except dilaudid and socks, that is. “No.”

“Okay,” Delilah nods, “Maybe if you walk me through it, I can help.” When Spencer doesn’t respond, she muses, “Spencer? Are you okay with that?”

Along with a shallow breath, he reiterates, “Originally, we believed the killer to be Charles Hankel.”

“And it wasn’t?”

“No,” Spencer replies, before frowning. “Well, yes. But Charles was dead.”

With a peculiar look, Delilah states, “I don’t quite understand.”

“Nearly every unsub has a specific event- a trigger- that causes them to snap, and then act out on sociopathic or psychotic tendencies,” Spencer blinks a few times, pressing down harder with his hands, still tucked under his arms. “For Tobias, it was his father’s death.”

Making a few mental notes, Delilah confirms, “Charles was his father.”

“Yes. I was the first to find out.”

“How did you find out?”

“JJ and I were supposed to interview him as a possible witness.”

Delilah nods. “And JJ is one of your good friends, right?”

“She was only a media liaison back then. She almost got killed,” Spencer replies, not quite answering his therapist’s question. “The dogs almost killed her, and I didn’t even know until after.”

After years of working, Delilah’s far too familiar with his particular wording. “After what?”

“JJ had to kill all of the dogs so they wouldn’t kill her first.”

“Spencer,” Delilah interrupts, attempting to get his question. “You mentioned that you didn’t know what happened to JJ until ‘after.’ What happened in between?”

Facts. Spencer can handle facts. “I went around the back.”

“What happened?”

“There was corn. And it was cold.”

Quickly grabbing her file, Delilah nods while writing a few things down. “Is that what you remembered?”

Almost mutely, Spencer replies, “And then I got blitzed.”

“Explain that to me.”

That’s easy. That’s a fact. “A ‘blitz attack’ is an informal way of explaining how an unsub is able to subdue a victim. It’s almost always a sudden injury to the head, typically from behind the victim.”

Delilah nods. “And that’s what happened to you?”

“Yes.” Spencer doesn’t think twice before bringing legs into his chest. Into the place of safety, where nobody can get him.

“What happened after?”

Spencer shakes his head as a response. It doesn’t matter what happened after. Nothing and everything happened after, but it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t need to be spoken about. It doesn’t even need to be mentioned.

“Spencer?”

Of course, that doesn’t stop Spencer from  _ thinking  _ about what happened after. Waking up to the sticky and tacky feeling of dried blood. Waking up to fish- oh god- the fish. Waking up to a wicked smile.

It’s the first time Spencer has ever experienced a wicked man first hand. 

He remembers the instant things got bad. It’s not a coincidence that it happened as soon as his socks were ripped off. As soon as his armor was pulled off, the world could get to him.

Spencer remembers, in perfect clarity, the face that Charles made before he brought the evergreen oak branch onto the fragile soles of his feet, breaking tiny metatarsal bones. Spencer remembers the devilish grin that Charles gave, making the younger man believe that if there really was a devil, it wasn’t in himself, but his captor.

Every night Spencer closes his eyes he sees Tobias’ eyes full of sorrow, full of pity. Like a ringing in his ears, Spencer can remember the answer Tobias gave when he told the broken man that his team could help. Despite the amnesia effects, Spencer still remembers the very instant the combination of dilaudid and psychedelics breached his skin.

Hydromorphone hydrochloride, laced with lysergide. Spencer remembers it all too well. The ways the walls morphed away, the way it took away his pain, all of it.

And Spencer knows what happened after.

When the final personality took control, staring Spencer down like he was nothing more than a pawn. Raphael wasn’t wrong.

The angel wasn’t wrong, and Spencer can’t even be mad at him. 

Spencer knows exactly what happened after he entered that corn field. And so does everyone else.

Except that’s not quite true.

Spencer’s report ends after Hotch holds him in his arms.

But in reality, Spencer’s still on the part of ‘after.’ The second he left JJ’s side. And it’s still going on. Everything in his life has been a byproduct of ‘after.’

After Charles, after Tobias, after Raphael.

After Hankel.

That is Spencer’s life. A series of events after.

Spencer doesn’t know when he stopped breathing, but as soon as he sucks in a quick breath, he knows that it’s been longer than he would’ve guessed. His throat burns.

In the background, Spencer can hear Delilah talking to him, trying to coach him through a series of breathing exercises, but it’s just noises to him. She’s counting to eight, counting again, and then keeps counting, all of the way to eight, and Spencer just thinks that it’s funny.

There are eight different criteria for PTSD. A, B, C, D, E, F, G, and H. Eight different seconds to breathe in and eight different ways that Spencer’s mind has fractured in on itself.

Spencer remembers Hankel’s broken mind. Spencer remembers how hard Charles tried to break Spencer.

And for the first time in Spencer’s life, he realizes that Charles succeeded.

A broken man with a broken mind tries to show Spencer how broken he really is, and Spencer can’t help but feel that in a different timeline he would share the fractured mind of Tobias Hankel.

It’s only now, that Spencer realizes that this is his timeline. He’s in the world where he breaks just as easily as Tobias.

It happened when he left JJ’s side. The mind of genius Spencer Reid broke, the second he took a step into the cornfield. And from any point afterward, the cracks in his brain just got larger.

Like a chisel chipping away at an already broken brick, Spencer wonders if he’s gotten past the place of no return. When will he be at the point where glue and mortar won’t help him? Or is he already there?

More voices surround Spencer, but he doesn’t pay any attention to them. Instead, Spencer lets himself fall further into the rabbit hole of his subconscious, only moving up when hands command him to.

Vials and old oak trees filter through Spencer’s brain, falling through all of the seams in his mind. Despite the multiple layers of clothing, Spencer’s still powerless when it comes to Georgia. When it comes to himself.

Spencer wonders what the last thought he had that wasn’t broken was. Or even, when.

Definitely before Hankel. But before the FBI? It could’ve been before Ethan left, or even before Mari left. It could’ve been before he left his mom.

The last sane thought he had could’ve even been when he was tied up to a piece of metal, or earlier, when his dad left. It could’ve been the first time he cowered away from the other kids on the playground.

Spencer’s brain stops.

He knows exactly where it is.

Spencer knows what his last whole thought was. He knows when and where. For the first time in Spencer’s life, it feels like he has knowledge about himself.

Spencer’s last non fractured memory was his first memory. His very first memory is his father draping a jacket over his thin shoulder. A second later, the first crack begins.

His very first memory is his father draping a jacket over his thin shoulders.

His last whole memory is his father draping a jacket over his thin shoulders.

*

Spencer lays in bed, blankets thrown to the side. His protection never did anything.

_ Anything. _

For his entire life, Spencer’s supposed to know what protects him. The moment he started to use his memory, is the moment Spencer understood what his armor does.

But it hasn’t done anything.

All it’s done is cover up the broken bits of his brain.

It hasn’t glued them back together, it hasn’t kept Spencer sane.

No, instead, all it’s doing is just hiding the numerous fractures in his mind.

The blankets beside him fall off the side of the bed, gravity finally winning over. Spencer watches in near awe. All of these silly little things. They’ve never helped him. They’ve never been on Spencer’s side, have they? 

They were never helpful. His armor didn’t protect him from the outside world. All it ever did was stop the pieces of his brain from falling out and getting lost.

The jackets, the covers, all of it. It didn’t help keep things away. Instead, it just kept all of the thoughts closed off.

Spencer closes his eyes, and dreams.

Maeve conjures herself up before Spencer can even think about her. She’s always been like that, though. It’s a comforting part of her. To a degree, Spencer thinks that Maeve’s always understood Spencer better than himself.

With a warm smile, she greets, “Hi, Spencer.”

Even though he’s seen her one hundred times in his dream, Spencer still quietly greets in disbelief. “Maeve.”

Before he can stop her, she strides over to him. And hugs him. It lasts for a long time. At least, Spencer thinks it does. He doesn’t have much experience when it comes to hugs.

When she finally pulls away, Spencer looks back at her. “I’ve never hugged you before. Things in dreams are based on real life. How would I know what a hug from you felt like if it’s never happened before?”

“Spencer,”

“Yes?”

“This is what a hug from me feels like.”

Spencer’s breath catches in his chest when she pulls him into her again.

When they pull apart, Spencer’s in tears, and he doesn’t know when they arrived. “Why did you do that?”

“It’s your dream.”

“Maeve,” Spencer wants to say more, but he doesn’t know how to formulate words anymore. He has a hard time believing his brain is even firing neurons at this point.

Leading him to a chess table in a park, Maeve requests, “Sit down, Spencer.”

Spencer doesn’t move any pawns. “You have black hair. And bangs.”

Her smile is sweeter than any other one’s Spencer’s ever seen. “Of course. You’ve seen my hair before, Spencer.”

“But it’s never been…” Spencer looks up to Maeve, still completely awestruck. “It’s never been real. You’ve never been real.”

Maeve moves her pawn, which doesn’t make sense. She’s on the blackside. “I’m still not real,” She points out.

Spencer moves his knight. “I’m sick, Maeve.”

“I know,” She admits. “And you’ve known for a long time too.”

That causes Spencer to look right in her eyes. “I have?”

Maeve nods. “I’m a part of your brain. If I knew, then you’ve known too. You just keep pushing it back. With every thought, you push it further from the top.”

Spencer doesn’t know what to do with that information. “My brain is in pieces.”

“That’s what happens when you fail to process trauma,” Maeve pauses, before looking back at Spencer. “Multiple times.”

“It’s just Hankel,” Spencer counters.

“No, it’s not.” The response comes so quick, Spencer isn’t even expecting it. Breathing in, Maeve continues, “Cat Adams.”

Spencer can feel his dream heart begin to thud. “I don’t want to talk about her.”

“And this is why your brain is in shambles.”

Twisting a pawn in his fingers, Spencer protests, “She didn’t do anything to me.”

“Allegedly.”

“She didn’t.”

Maeve doesn’t miss a beat. “You built up an immunity to drugs, heroin specifically. It takes more milligrams for you to feel the effects, compared to a non drug user.”

“I don’t- what are you getting at?”

Sighing softly, Maeve reaches over to grab Spencer’s free hand. “Spencer, you forget. I’m you. I’m a piece of your brain. I know what happened in Mexico.”

Spencer shakes his head. “No. You can’t. I don’t know what happened in Mexico, so there’s no way that you’re aware of it.”

“You built up a resistance because of dilaudid. By the end of your addiction, you could take the same amount as what Tobias gave you without losing consciousness.”

“I don’t understand,” Spencer replies. “What are you trying to tell me?”

“You don’t remember what happened in Mexico. But it wasn’t because of the drugs.”

Spencer takes in oxygen, convinced that in a second he won’t be able to.

Undeterred, Maeve continues. “You said it yourself, your brain was already fractured. It was practically second nature to repress what happened.”

Before she’s even closed her mouth, Spencer chokes out, “How do you know?”

“I’m a part of you, Spencer. I’m one of the pieces of your mind. One that chipped off after your numerous traumas. Though,” She continues, “I’m sure you know which trauma triggered it.”

“Watching you die.” Spencer plainly states.

Maeve gives a weak smile, squeezing Spencer’s hand. “If I’m being honest, I thought you’d have figured it out by now.”

“Figured what out?”

“Mexico.” Spencer moves to reply, but Maeve beats him. “Tell me, Spencer, what’s the second criteria for PTSD?”

“Criteria B: Presence of one or more of the following intrusion symptoms associated with the traumatic events, beginning after the traumatic events occurred:”

Nodding, Maeve asks, “And the subcategory of B?”

Spencer’s mouth recites it before he can even process her words. “One: Recurrent, involuntary, and intrusive distressing memories of the traumatic events.”

Maeve gives another smile. “You have plenty of intrusive memories of Mexico.”

“No, I don’t,” Spencer shakes his head. “I’d know if that were the case.”

“I hide them away from you.” Maeve states, as if it were clear as day.

Spencer clenches his eyes shut. “That’s not how brains work.”

“Who are you to decide that? The human mind is incredible, Spencer. Especially yours. You’re quite the anomaly, you know?”

“I learned when I had my IQ test,”

Maeve silences him with the shake of her head. “You’ve known much longer than that, don’t lie. It didn’t take you eighteen years to learn that you were extraordinary.”

Spencer scrunches his eyes. “You keep taking other people’s words,”

As if she didn’t hear it, Maeve continues on her own little quest. “What’s the second subcategory of B, Spencer?”

“Two: Recurrent distressing dreams in which the content and/or affect of the dream are related to the traumatic events.”

With a light huff, Maeve points out, “The dream from a couple of nights ago easily fits in. What’s the next subcategory?”

Spencer wants to scream. Instead, he answers her. “Three: Dissociative reactions, for example, flashbacks, in which the individual feels or acts as if the traumatic events were recurring.”

“As much you loathe to admit it, Spencer,” Maeve starts, “That’s exactly what happened back in Texas. You were back with Tobias, weren’t you?”

“I don’t remember,” Spencer halfheartedly tries.

“Yes you do. Fourth subcategory?”

At this point, Spencer doesn’t even know why he continues to play Maeve’s wicked game. “Four: Intense or prolonged psychological distress at exposure to internal or external cues that symbolize or resemble an aspect of the traumatic event.”

“There’s a reason why you don’t ever take your socks off,” Maeve gives him a smile, “And I’m sure you think it’s a very good reason, at that. Five.”

“Five: Marked physiological reactions to internal or external cues that symbolize or resemble an aspect of the traumatic events.”

Nodding, Maeve points out, “I’ve been trying to tell you this. Honestly, I think I was trying to tell you this back when I was alive, as well. You know the truth about your headaches, Spencer. It’s not stress, and you know it. Go on to C.”

Who is Spencer to deny his subconscious? “Criteria C: Persistent avoidance of stimuli associated with the traumatic events.”

Maeve clicks her tongue. “First subcategory?”

“One: avoidance of or efforts to avoid distressing memories, thoughts, or feelings about or closely associated with the traumatic events.” Spencer answers.

Nodding to his knuckles, which are miraculously healed in the dream, Maeve muses, “You seemed to develop quite the coping mechanism for getting memories and thoughts out of your head. Second subcategory?”

With a quick deep breath, Spencer responds, “Avoidance of or efforts to avoid external reminders, such as people, places, conversations, activities, objects, or situations, that arouse distressing memories, thoughts, or feelings about or closely associated with the traumatic events.”

Looking nearly bored, Maeve points out, “Avoiding fish? Check. Avoiding taking off any of your clothes? Another check. What’s criteria D?”

“Negative alterations in cognitions and mood associated with the traumatic events, beginning or worsening after the traumatic events.”

“You have to fit in at least two of these sub categories, Spencer. I’ll go over a couple that I know you fit into. Tell me the first one.”

Despite not wanting to, he complies. “Inability to remember an important aspect of the traumatic events, typically due to dissociative amnesia.”

Leaning forward so her elbows rest on the chess table, Maeve reiterates, “You know what happened in Mexico. You just push it down.” Before Spencer can argue, she adds, “Now tell me the second category.”

“Persistent and exaggerated negative beliefs or expectations about oneself, others, or the world.” Spencer winces, as soon as the words come out. 

“What is it, you always say? The world is full of wicked people? I’m sure that statement fits in perfectly. Go on to category E.”

Spencer obliges. “Category E: Marked alterations in arousal and reactivity associated with the traumatic events, beginning or worsening after the traumatic events occurred.”

Maeve looks particularly uncomfortable at this one. “We both know that any emotional or sexual growth was ruined when I died in front of you. Perhaps this isn’t a good one to judge on. Tell me what F is.”

“Criteria F: Duration of the disturbance from criteria B, C, D, and E is more than a month.”

“For some of these, it’s been over a decade. Surely you must know that you’re past the point of just PTS. Criteria G?”

“The disturbance causes clinically significant distress or impairment in social, occupational, or other important areas of functioning.” Spencer answers with a sigh.

Maeve appears to think on it for a second, before responding, “You haven’t been the same at work since prison. And don’t even get me started on your social skills, Spencer. Final criteria. Go.”

Spencer takes a deep breath. “Criteria H: Said disturbance is not attributable to the physiological effects of a substance or another medical condition.”

“I think it’s safe to assume that you haven’t been taking dilaudid for the past decade.” Maeve then takes her elbows off the board. “Well there we have it! You’ve needed to have this conversation for a long time, Spencer. You have PTSD, and you know it.”

Frowning, Spencer points out, “You can’t just diagnose me.”

“I’m not diagnosing you,” Maeve counters, “You’re diagnosing yourself. I’m just a piece of you. Besides, you have a Master’s in psychology, and we both know you’ve spent more hours learning about PTSD than most medical professionals.” 

Spencer stays quiet. “I don’t know what to do with this information.”

“Sure you do,” Maeve starts. “You’ve been waiting over a decade to find a reason for all of the strange qualities of your brain. You have one.”

“I don’t want to have it.” Spencer quietly replies.

Any maliciousness left in her voice has completely left, bringing back the Maeve that Spencer’s used to. “I’m sorry, Spencer.”

“What are you sorry for?”

“I’ve been a piece of your brain, this entire time.”

Spencer gives her a look of confusion. “...Okay?”

She smiles softly, and regrasps Spencer’s hand in two of her own. “You don’t need me as a fragment anymore.”

“Maeve, you know I’m not good with metaphors,”

“You’ll understand this one.” She quietly replies. “I can’t keep living in your brain like this. You need help, Spencer. You’ve been living with untreated PTSD for over a decade. You can’t keep using me and your dreams as an escape.”

Spencer sits, stunned for a few seconds. “But I don’t know what happened in Mexico yet.”

“Yes you do” Maeve replies. “And you know that you do. You just need to accept it.”

Spencer fervently shakes his head. “How am I supposed to accept that something like that happened to me?”

Maeve gives a sad chuckle. “It would help if you actually said what happened.”

“I-” Spencer sucks in a breath, “I can’t do that.”

Evidently accepting that response, Maeve just smiles. The two of them sit together for a long minute, listening to the background noise of Spencer’s dream. It’s one of the most peaceful things that’s happened in Spencer’s life.

Even though it isn’t actually happening in his life.

“What are you going to do when you wake up?” Maeve asks, making it sound far more grand than it actually is. “You’ll be out of catatonia when you wake up.”

“I wasn’t catatonic,” Spencer weakly counters.

“Spencer. You were. You nearly had to be picked up to make it to the car. You hadn’t said a word in hours, and your eyes were unfocused. Don’t try and argue with me.”

With a huff, Spencer admits, “Yeah. I guess so.”

“But you didn’t answer my question. What are you going to do when you wake up?”

Spencer scrunches his eyebrows. “I’m not sure.”

“Sure you do,” Maeve pushes, knowing exactly what’s going on in Spencer’s mind given the fact that she’s a part of it. “What’s the first thing that you’re going to do?”

“I, um-” Spencer swallows, glancing down at their intertwined hands. “I’m going to go back to my apartment. Not to stay. But to grab something.”

Maeve smiles at him. “Good choice.”

They sit in silence for another minute, Spencer cataloging everything about Maeve. The first time, other than real life, that he’s seen her genuine self.

“It’s been over five years, Spencer,” Maeve suddenly announces.

“What do you mean?” 

“Since I died.” They both know that Spencer knew the answer, but neither of them comment on it. “It’s been over five years.” She reiterates, before withdrawing her hands from Spencer’s.

Although he doesn’t move, Spencer tries, “Maeve, don’t do this,”

“You can’t keep holding onto me like this. You know it’s not healthy.”

Spencer shakes his head. “I can’t just forget about you.”

“Moving on isn’t forgetting,” Maeve starts. “Grieving isn’t forgetting.”

“I’ve already grieved for you.”

They both know it’s a lie. “If that were true, then I wouldn’t be here right now. You have to accept the fact that I’m not coming back.”

“What if I forget you?”

“You’re not going to. Even if you didn’t have your eidetic memory, I know you’d never forget about me,” Maeve soothes. “But it’s time for you to move on. It’s time for you to start actually taking care of yourself.”

Desperate, Spencer insists, “I have been.”

“No, you haven’t. But you need to start.”

“I’ll do it for you,”

“No,” Maeve shakes her head. “You’re going to do it for yourself.”

Shaking his head, Spencer cries back, “I don’t know how.”

“Then you’ll have to learn pretty quickly. There’s a whole world out there for you, Spencer. You’ve barely seen any of it. Despite what you may think, it’s not full of wicked people, I promise.” Maeve states.

Spencer pauses. His entire life has been tracking and finding wicked people. He can’t imagine an Earth that wasn’t full of wicked people with their wicked minds.

“Stop staring at me like that,” Maeve softly laughs. “You know it’s true.”

“I don’t know what to do.”

“You’ll learn.” Maeve then chuckles to herself. “It’s high time you learned to love yourself, Spencer.”

Feeling his worry creep up, Spencer insists, “I won’t be able to do it.”

“I’ll give you a push in the right direction.”

“What’s that?”

“I want you to do something for me, after you wake up, okay?”

Spencer nods. “Okay.”

“You don’t have to do it now, but at some point, you’ll need to. I need you to find a mirror, and take a good look at yourself. A look at who you really are.”

With narrow eyes, Spencer replies, “I don’t understand.”

“I want you to see what the rest of the world sees.”

“Which is?”

“You have to find out on your own.” Maeve smiles at him, the sweetest smile Spencer’s ever seen. “Bye, Spencer.”

Spencer wakes up, fueled with determination from a piece of himself.

It’s time he put his shattered mind back together again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As mentioned earlier, this will not be the end of Spencer's story.
> 
> I'm thinking about waiting around a week before the next book? Basically a decision about the college I want to go to will be announced in a week, and I'm kind of bubbling with anxiety, and so yeee. I think I might wait until I know the results of that, but I'm honestly not sure.
> 
> As of right now, the next book will have: Still lots of anxiety and therapy, Ralvez, the Morgans, and perhaps a few other characters that have been missed...
> 
> Hehe. Basically, Spencer is not all of a sudden better. He just had a big realization about actually wanting to get better, because before, he just wanted to feel safe. yeh.
> 
> Thank you everyone for all of your support, I literally do not know what I would do without you all! Completing a novel is like a fucking dream, and for it to actually happen??? This is so fucking crazy. I honestly can't believe it. Thank you, so so so so much for your kind words, your kudos, your everything. Thank you, so much.
> 
> I love you <3

**Author's Note:**

> Shout out to [BrightTerror](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrightTerror/pseuds/BrightTerror) for all of her help! This wouldn't have happened without her :D  
> I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! If you don't know yet, this is an expansion to one of my other stories, [Ashes, Ashes, We All Fall Down,](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27009517) but it's not necessary to read that one first! If you have, then you know where this story is going, and that's basically all it provides :)
> 
> I end up posting a lot of updates and little tidbits on my [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/appalachianapologies) (AppalachianApologies), so come check that out if you're interested! I love talking with you all!
> 
> I love and care about each and everyone one of you guys, and I hope you're all doing well. If you're in a bad or scary situation, here are some hotlines for you lovely people. (Please keep in mind that the written out numbers are US hotlines.)
> 
> National Suicide Hotline: 1-800-273-8255  
> National Sexual Assault Hotline: 1-800-656-4673  
> National Domestic Violence Hotline: 1-800-799-7233
> 
> If you don't live in America and need someone to talk to, here's a list of [international hotlines.](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_suicide_crisis_lines)  
> You are not alone, and I love you all <3
> 
> All of the love to you wonderful people, and until next time, take care! <3


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